


passionate schemes of joy

by dumb-apple (KMWells)



Series: an affair with the sky [1]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Before Crisis Era (Compilation of FFVII), Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Idiots in Love, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Incestual Undertones, President Shinra Being An Asshole, Unfair Shera Bashing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, toxic family relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23667055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMWells/pseuds/dumb-apple
Summary: Charlotte Shinra—also known as Char, Charlie, and Lottie—should have been born a son. For the sole defect of having been born a daughter, she has unwillingly forfeited her rights to her father's company, instead assigned to take on the Space Exploration Department, where she's forced to make a decision that doesn't sit well with her captain, and must face the consequences of a bruising defeat.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Cid Highwind, Original Female Character/Reeve Tuesti
Series: an affair with the sky [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704106
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> what's that saying? if you can't find a story you want to read, just write it yourself?

part i: _base camp_

* * *

_And were they but for this, those passionate schemes_

_Of joy, that I have nursed? indeed for this_

_That longings, day and night, have filled my dreams?_

_Now it has come, the hour of bliss,_

_How different it seems!_

Laurence Binyon

* * *

“Well, well, well . . . if it ain’t Princess Charlotte Shinra in the damn flesh. Looking radiant as ever, Your Royal Highness.”

She smiles and reaches out to shake his hand, pleased with his firm grip. “I’m so glad to see you again, Captain.”

His hands are covered and smeared with black grease and oil, and the skin on his corded forearms and scruffy face has been kissed by the sun, making him seem to glow slightly pink, the back of his neck blazing red. 

When they break apart, she gestures to the tall, dark-haired man standing just behind her. “You remember Reeve, don’t you? I’ve finally convinced him to come look at the rocket, and I’ve promised him the VIP tour today.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cid grunts, sticking out his blackened hand again. Reeve looks down at it, scrunching his nose, but shakes it brusquely all the same. They shake hands with vigor, as if it’s some kind of pissing competition, which it always seems to be between them. “The other pilots are gonna start the rehearsal soon, for the air show. They’ve been workin’ damn hard at it. You’ll be stayin’ for a little while, right, Lottie?”

Reeve’s face hardens, anger flashing in his dark eyes. She knows how much he dislikes Cid, though she’s never been able to figure out specifically why. The two of them are just completely different people, she supposes. 

“This is Charlotte Shinra you’re speaking to, the daughter of President Shinra and heiress to the Shinra Electric Power Company,” he snaps, straightening to his full height, taller than Cid by a few inches and far more intimidating in all black, hair smoothed back out of his face and his jaw set. “Have a care how you speak to her, _Captain._ ”

“Reeve, it’s all right.” Charlie lays a hand on his forearm, sharing a discreet look with Cid as the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “Everyone here knows that I’m heiress in name only. I’ll never live to sit in the president’s chair at the president’s desk in the president’s office.”

“That’s a real shame. Bet you’d make a good president,” Cid teases.

Her mouth tightens as she turns to Reeve, raising her thin eyebrows expectantly. “Reeve, could you please have my men set up my tent somewhere near the base of the rocket? And make sure they bring all of my things. I have business to attend to, but I’ll come get you for the tour in a little.”

Reeve nods, flashing Cid a pointed look. He and Charlie watch as her old friend walks away from them and back towards the helicopter they arrived in, the wind picking up his dark hair in the back. His suit looks slightly too small, as if he’s done some growing lately, arms looking uncomfortably stiff and his long strides awkward and restricted, but it’s a more expensive outfit than anything else being worn around camp.

“No Turk with you today?”

“No, not today. Business has taken Tseng out of the city for a few days.”

“So it’s pleasure that brings you here?” Cid asks, holding a hand up to his face to shield his eyes from the morning sun.

“Only partially,” Charlie confesses, following Cid to a navy blue truck with an empty bed. _SHINRA INC._ is painted on both sides in white, and the engine is still grumbling and hot, emitting exhaust and steam into the crisp spring air.

“Partially?”

“Yes.”

“Explain?”

She’s slightly displeased that there’s no top to the truck, half-afraid of having to face the biting wind, but she isn’t going to make a scene over it. Some fresh air might do her some good. “The stink of the city was starting to get to me, I think. I like it out here, in the country. It’s peaceful and quiet.”

“It won’t be in a few hours,” Cid chuckles, giving her a hand up into the passenger’s seat before jumping up himself and putting the truck forcefully into gear. “You gonna be able to work with fireworks poppin’ and engines goin’ off in the background?”

“I think I’ll manage.”

Though Cid drives relatively slowly, the wind still makes her eyes sting and water, her light blonde hair blowing back out of her face. Charlie pulls her scarf tighter around her chin, turning in her seat to face her companion. “Thank you for meeting us. I thought you might be too busy to escort me yourself.”

“And make the princess drive all the way to base camp _without_ me?” Cid smiles crookedly, a slight gap between his front teeth. It’s familiar, and endearing. “Figured I’d help you out. Besides, couldn’t make you walk. Might get your fancy shoes all dirty.”

“You wrong me!” Charlie laughs, lifting one of her legs to show him the well-worn boots on her feet. “I’ve come prepared and dressed _completely_ appropriately!” Cid gives her boot a sidelong glance and smiles again, his teeth catching his bottom lip and chewing on it. “How have things been? No trouble with the rocket, I hope?”

“S’only been a week since you’ve been here. We’re all doin’ just fine, especially our baby.” Cid looks sideways at her. “You been too busy to come visit us lowly engineers or what?”

Charlie shoots him a dangerous glare, and by the way he flinches, faltering for a moment, she thinks she’s gotten her point across. Softening, she distracts herself by admiring the surrounding foliage. “I’ve been so busy lately. I’m in the process of moving, and yes, I am aware that the timing is horrible.”

“You’re movin’?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Sector Eight.”

“Into what?”

“An apartment nearer to Headquarters.”

“Is that so?” Cid scoffs, grinding his teeth. He speaks gruffly, hardly louder than the engine. “Thought someone like you would be livin’ in some sort of fancy mansion that’s four stories tall or somethin’ like that.”

She blushes, looking away from him and out over the side door of the truck towards the dense thicket of trees. “I _did_ live in a house, but it was a family estate, and not mine really,” she counters, trying in vain to avoid his face, and Cid raises his eyebrows as if her confession proves his own point. “If you _must_ know, I decided to downsize because everyone else had gone, and just the thought of being in a big, empty house for one more night was going to drive me insane.”

“Yeah? And who’s payin’ for that fancy apartment you’re movin’ into?” Cid asks, and while there’s a bite to his tone, he doesn’t seem to genuinely mean the words. She’s certain he just wants to seem uncouth and bold. It’s all an act, she knows. “Sure it’s not bein’ funded by any leftover donations to our department?”

Anger flashes in Charlie’s pale blue eyes. None of the donations had gone to her personally, but she doesn’t want to admit that her own brother is paying for her apartment. “Is that the kind of person you think I am?”

“I dunno what kind of person you really are,” Cid retorts flatly. “You don’t tell me nothin’.”

“Be careful. I think you’ve forgotten yourself, Captain.” Charlie leans back in her seat, keeping her eyes fixed ahead of them. “I’d suggest you hold your tongue now, if you’d like to keep your job.”

The clearing that Reeve had the helicopter land in has been swallowed up by the tall elm and oak trees that surround them, pressing close on both sides of the dusty path, marred with tire tracks from supply trucks bringing cargo back and forth from the landing site to base camp. Dew still clings to the tendrils of grass that line the road, dripping down from the leaves. A small amount of water pools in the tire tracks, and the rest of the drive is quiet, save for the engine and soft splashing when they hit a puddle. 

It isn’t until the trees begin to thin out that Charlie’s heart leaps in her throat. She’s always loved this, arriving at base camp in such a dramatic fashion, as if it’s a curtain lifting on stage before a performance of _LOVELESS_. 

As Cid breaks free from the forest, the camp becomes fully visible to her, basking in the light of the sun, like a spotlight.

Sprawled out in a wide and seemingly endless clearing is what resembles more of a military camp than a base camp. Nearly a hundred tents cover the cleared ground, the forest their only defense from the semi-harmful animals and monsters that may lurk within the bushes. 

Smoke rises from the ground with gray fingers, reaching for the blue sky, cook fires still burning down to nothing from breakfast. The smell of bacon and sausage fat still lingers in the air, and the murmur of friendly conversation and muffled laughter fills her ears. 

There’s a small, proud little smile on Cid’s flushed face as he slows the truck down, the road becoming more bumpy. 

Charlie’s eyes, however, are drawn to the main attraction of base camp, the fifty-foot-high rocket that has been scrapped and rebuilt five times now since she’s taken over the Space Exploration Department, mostly due to product errors and her desire for everything to be absolutely perfect. 

The metal exterior gleams in the sunshine, and there’s a crude wooden staircase that’s been erected, leading to the sketchy scaffolding that leads up to the very top of the rocket. 

Truly, the rocket really is her baby, as much as it is Cid’s—she’s watched it grow from nothing but sketched out plans and enthusiastic daydreams, a dream shared by both she and Cid. Sleepless nights spent by low lamplight, going through sketch after sketch after sketch, until she and Cid had finally been able to adapt their wishes perfectly onto paper. 

He had been the only crew member hand-picked by Charlie herself when her father had raised her to Director of the Space Exploration Department. They had worked together on the building of the _Highwind_ , Shinra’s prized airship—Cid as the chief aeronautical engineer and Charlie as the operations’ manager, overseeing the entire operation at the tender age of nineteen, just having finished Shinra’s best engineering program early. 

She and Cid had been forced to worked together in close quarters for months, working well together as a team, able to bounce ideas off each other with surprising ease, the both of them knowledgeable and practical and useful. 

So when Charlie was handed an entire department only a few months after the completion and success of the _Highwind_ , the first person she had gone to was Cid Highwind, her boy-genius pilot, and he had been ecstatic to be called ‘captain’, to train as the first astronaut, and to work alongside her once again. 

The night she had tracked him down to a small apartment in Junon, they had spoken all night about nothing but space, theorizing about the stars and the moon, sharing research, wondering what might be out there, never planning to return from amongst the stars. 

Cid takes a hard right before they enter base camp, and the truck rolls off the dirt road and into the slick grass, where it parks it among three other trucks, some with empty wooden crates and pallets stacked in their beds, all similar in make. He gets out of the truck first, hurrying over to the other side to open Charlie’s door and help her down. She lands in the wet grass with a soft _squelch_ , mud lapping at the sides of her boots. 

Charlie brushes herself off and fixes her windswept hair. “Rufus is coming later, did you know?” she asks, making towards the bulk of camp with Cid still at her side. “I’ve been begging him for weeks to come take a quick look around before the rocket is launched, but he’s just been so busy overseas. He would have come with Reeve and I, but . . . they don’t really get along.”

Cid casts a look over his shoulder, as if expecting Reeve to be there. “Is he always so . . . ?”

“No,” Charlie answers, elbowing Cid playfully, their brief argument already forgotten. “I think it’s just you. Reeve is quite relaxed and rather funny the other ninety-percent of the time he’s with me, when you’re nearly a world away.”

He smiles slyly, looking too smug for his own good. He takes Charlie’s wrist in his tough left hand, holding out his right arm to wrap her skinny fingers around his forearm. While keeping pace with her, he puts his mouth next to her ear, speaking almost into her hair. 

“And what exactly have you been tellin’ him that’s gettin’ him so worked up?”

Charlie leans into him instinctively, only for a moment. “Only that I enjoy your company, the rough and callous cowboy astronaut you are.”

“Can I still call you Lottie?” Cid asks, snickering like a little boy. “Or will he put a bullet through my brain if I don’t refer to you as Your Royal Highness, the Princess Charlotte Shinra, Heiress to the Shinra fortune and company?”

“Please be kind to him.” She gives a casual shrug, putting a little bit of distance between them as they wander past the first few pitched canvas tents. “And I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“What would you prefer to Your Royal Highness?”

“Just Charlie.”

“Okay, Just Charlie.” Cid smiles toothily as Charlie scoffs. “How ‘bout you still let me call you Lottie, and it’ll be our little secret?”

“Why can’t you just call me Charlie?”

“Because I like Lottie.” He taps a finger to his chin, chewing on his cheek. “Or what about Lettie? That’s pretty, ain’t it? Can I call you that? Is that better or worse than Lottie?”

Charlie softens, suddenly nostalgic, even as she stares up at the rocket. “My mother used to call me Lettie. She was the only one, but . . .” She shakes off the feeling, smiling at him again. “Call me what you will, just save Princess Charlotte for someone who gives a damn. I promise I won’t have you shot for using a nickname.”

“My Lady is most merciful indeed.” Cid gives a dramatic, flourishing bow. 

Charlie rolls her eyes, laughing. “I have to meet with a few people. Do you think you could hold off the air show until my brother arrives? I’d really like for him to see it. I know it will be fantastic.”

“Whatever you say, Lottie.” Before they split ways several yards into the midst of camp, Cid catches her sleeve and gives it a slight tug to keep her from leaving. “You’ll stay for a while, won’t you? I’ve got somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to show you, but it’s gotta be night when I do. Can’t do it durin’ the day.”

Charlie shrugs noncommittally. “We’ll see.”

“C’mon, Lottie, don’t be like that.” Cid releases her, looking disappointed. “Tonight’s the last night I’ll be able to show you.”

Against her better judgement, Charlie says, “All right. I’ll stay for a little while. Now I’ve got to go, really. I’ll come and find you when Rufus is here for the rehearsal. Will you be prepared?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“When were the last safety tests performed?”

“Just last night. Everything came back normal.”

“Do another test first thing, _before_ everyone starts branching off. I want as many eyes as possible on the test results—something may escape one person, but it won’t escape all of them. Compare the results, then bring them to my tent when you’re finished and I’ll look them over.” Charlie sighs heavily, looking around her. The rumble of a few more engines can be heard growing louder, the trucks likely carrying Charlie’s things. “Everything has to be perfect.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. Everything’s gonna go accordin’ to plan, just like we talked about.” Cid drapes an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, gesturing to the camp around them and, finally, to the rocket. “Take a good long look at it. Look at what you’ve done. Loyal men and women workin’ hard for a cause they all believe in, and for a woman they believe in. We’re gonna make history, Lottie.”

Charlie shakes him off, turning around to face him. “You don’t understand,” she whispers gravely. “Everything _must be perfect._ My father is counting on this, on _me._ If something goes wrong . . .”

Cid looks equally as grave when he answers, his firm hands on her shoulders. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be perfect.”

She looks up into his face, the sun behind him making it seem as if a halo has momentarily graced him. It makes his yellow hair shine golden, illuminating his short, bristly stubble, which has always seemed darker than the hair on his head. Even his blue eyes seem bluer now, far bluer than her own, making him look younger than he really is, erasing the hard lines on his face underneath the grease smeared across his cheeks. 

Resigned to the fact that Cid would never admit to anything less than perfection in regards to his rocket, Charlie accepts defeat, only able to hope that he’s right. “If I ask you a favor, will you accept that I don’t mean to demean you as my captain?”

Cid smiles knowingly. “What do you need, princess?”

“Coffee. Preferably decent coffee, but at this point, I’ll drink anything leftover from three days ago, if that’s all you have.”

He lets out a bark of laughter that’s sweet as can be. “I can get you coffee.”

“Thanks, Cid.”

Cid leaves her, heading back towards his tent. All around her, the day is just beginning. The fires are being doused with water, hissing as they go out, sending up thick smoke. Most employees are dressed by now in greasy clothing, engineers and scientists and traders and chemists, astronomers that track the progress of the stars, technicians and meteorologists. 

Since the first day the base camp had been established, the amount of tents has grown tenfold. A makeshift bar has even been established in a long tent that’s big enough for twenty people (funded after Cid had spoken to Charlie at length about her workers having a thirst, and after mentioning the huge surplus of donations working their way into the department), and with their surplus, they had carpenters build a small mess hall with some thin trees that were cut down. 

The design for it had even been drawn by Reeve at her own request. 

In a pen, also made from the trunks of thin trees, a few chocobos graze happily, _qwork_ ing as their handler throws feed and greens over the fence for them. Over on the other side of camp, Charlie knows that there are washerwomen hard at work, scrubbing the greasy uniforms and hanging them to dry in the breeze.

Charlie knows them all. 

A group of mechanics in blackened denim overalls are smoking in between two tents, drinking the remnants of their coffee. “Morning, Miss Shinra,” one of them says, smiling to reveal yellowing teeth. 

She slows her pace to make brief conversation. “Good morning, Mr. Craft. Did your daughter have a nice birthday?”

“She really did.” Mr. Craft removes his hat to hold it over his heart. “My wife really appreciates you lettin’ me take some time to visit, and Millie really enjoyed the model airplane you gave her.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.”

Charlie stops by the chocobo pen to pet one, just on a whim. The yellow feathers slip through her fingers like silk. She’s never ridden one before, but she’d like to try, at least once. She and Rufus always liked to watch the chocobo races at Gold Saucer when they were younger, even though Charlie always thought they looked uncomfortable with riders on their backs.

“Do you use them often?” Charlie asks the sun-tanned handler. Her face is freckled beneath her floppy hat.

“During night, mostly,” the handler explains, wiping her hands on her thighs. “They’re quieter than the trucks, so we can easily move small loads around camp without waking anyone.”

“What will happen to them when our rocket is launched and base camp is torn down?”

“I’ll take them back to my farm, raise them with the others. I’ve got a green one, you know.”

Charlie smiles. “They have all kinds of colors at Gold Saucer. I think I saw a gold one there once, but it was so hard to tell.”

“Terrible, isn’t it? The races?”

“Yes, awful.”

Cid finds her halfway across camp, handing her a warm thermos. The first sip warms her chest, the second warms her entire body. Black, just like she’s always liked it. “Thank you,” she tells him, checking her watch. “Make sure everyone knows that Rufus is coming today. I don’t want anyone caught doing anything that would suggest we aren’t taking this project seriously.”

Cid gives her a gravelly chuckle. “Yeah, sure, Lottie.”

The crew members Charlie has actually come here to see are in one of the biggest tents. A mako-powered generator hums from behind it, giving life to the computers and machinery within.

There are two men inside and one woman, the oldest and most important being Mr. Roderick Leradine, a graying man who’s seen much more of life than Charlie has at only twenty-two. 

Completely bald on top with gray curls sprouting from the sides of his head and his ears and temples, he looks more like a mad scientist than anyone she’s ever met, even compared to Professor Hojo, who Rufus says is a mad scientist in his own right. 

With Roderick having developed a unique communications system for the _Highwind_ , Charlie has recently had him working exclusively on a mobile communications device fit for the rocket, something she’s very excited to try.

“Miss Shinra . . . !” Roderick stands up abruptly and claps the dust and dirt off his hands, bowing awkwardly. The fair-haired girl on his left—Roderick’s assistant, Misty—and the thirty-something man on his right—Tomas—both get to their feet, looking slightly harassed in their stained lab coats. “Forgive us, but we didn’t expect you until later this afternoon!”

“I thought I’d come early to give you a heads up. My brother will be coming today,” Charlie says, waving a flippant hand and drawing nearer to the device in front of them to take a closer look.

The screen is small, but she’s able to see the important information—the fuel gauge, several pressure valves, a bright red and green gauge that tells Charlie how much oxygen is inside the flight deck, the pre-planned destination of the rocket ship, and it will show the force of acceleration and speed when the rocket is launched.

“Is it finished?”

“We were hoping to test it today during the live rehearsal,” Roderick explains, gesturing for her to sit in his seat. 

Charlie sits, running the tips of her fingers over the many buttons. It isn’t the flight deck of a rocket ship bound for outer space (where she so desperately wants to be), but it’s the closest thing she’ll have during the actual launch.

“Everything should work fine, just like the _Highwind._ Make sure you don’t accidentally press the big red button here, that’s the Emergency Shut-Off. We also have these.” He holds up a thick and heavy set of headphones, a dark yellow color with a hefty microphone attached. “They’ll cancel any noise . . . besides the launch itself, of course. But it will reduce the noise of the launch by more than half. And you’ll be able to hear Captain Cid through them, as well.”

Charlie allows him to put them on over her ears and, suddenly, everything goes silent. Roderick talks, opening and closing his mouth as if trying to prove his point—and he’s right. Charlie doesn’t hear a thing, not the tapping of Misty’s pencil or the cracking of Tomas’s gum or the trucks driving through camp. It’s unnerving. She takes them off. 

“I’d like to test them all later, after the rehearsal. I should be with Rufus for the better part of the day, but expect me afterwards.” She examines it closer, nodding. “It does look very much like the _Highwind_ ’s. Have Cid test it with you during the rehearsal and with me afterwards. He’s been briefed, I assume?”

“Yes, ma’am. And . . . there is one more feature we’ve added,” Roderick continues, pointing to a button in the upper right corner of the small computer screen in front of her. He pushes it, but it does nothing. “This button will allow you and Captain Cid to communicate via a private channel.”

Charlie blinks in surprise. “Oh.” She clears her throat. What use could that possibly have? “Thank you for telling me.”

Roderick flushes a deep crimson, though whether it’s due to her gratitude or her lackluster thanks, she isn’t certain. “It was the captain’s idea, ma’am. He requested it special . . . said he . . . he . . .”

“Just say it before you give yourself an aneurysm,” Charlie insists quickly. 

“The captain said he wanted a private channel with you so he didn’t have to . . . well . . . I believe his exact wording was, so he didn’t have to ‘share a line with those other morons at Shinra, should something go wrong’. Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

“That does sound like Cid, doesn’t it?” She smiles, rising from the chair. “You’ve done well, thank you. Now, I have a few other people to meet with—”

“Miss Shinra!” A weary-looking engineer pops his head through the canvas flaps of the tent, his cheeks pink. “Vice President Shinra is here, Miss Shinra. I saw his helicopter, just now. They must have just landed.”

“Prepare a truck. I’ll drive down to meet him. Just pull up to the road outside of camp and leave it running for me.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”

Charlie steps back out into the fresh air of base camp, the scent of it tinged with a bit of grease and a bit of fuel and a bit of salty sweat. She sees the engineer pulling the truth around from the grassy field in which it was parked, to the narrow dirty road that will lead back to the clearing she had come from.

“Miss Shinra!”

Charlie doesn’t have the chance to turn around before one of her scientists is at her side, auburn hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, round glasses slipping down her sweaty nose. “What is it, Shera? If it’s not absolutely urgent, I must ask that you wait until after the rehearsal. I’m in rather a hurry.”

“It’s just—I—I—I have the tests, ma’am—the tests that you asked the captain about—”

“And?” Charlie snatches them from Shera’s hand when she fails to answer, giving Shera her thermos and holding the tests up side-by-side and sighing, holding them back out for Shera to take. The scientist fumbles with the reports and the thermos, spilling a bit of coffee down her jacket. “I don’t have time for this right now. My brother has just arrived. Can you handle this for me?”

Shera hesitates, looking down at the papers in her hands. “Well, I—I—”

“Are you, or are you not, capable of looking at the reports and determining if there is a problem?” Charlie asks sharply, stopping abruptly to turn and look at the young girl before her.

Perhaps ‘young girl’ is the wrong term, for Shera is definitely older than Charlie by a few years, and likely much more qualified to diagnose the issues of a rocket ship.

When Shera fails again to answer quickly enough, Charlie raises her eyebrows impatiently. “If you cannot handle that task, perhaps I should just ask someone a little more confident and a little more capable.”

“No—no, I can do it, Miss Shinra.”

When Shera continues to linger awkwardly, Charlie sighs. “Then _go_ and do it,” she says, dismissing her with a wave of her hand. She doesn’t stand around to watch Shera run off, but instead makes quickly towards her tent again, a luxury thing double the size of the others around her, the words _SHINRA INC_. plastered in white on the canvas.

Reeve pushes out of the tent entrance as Charlie approaches, draining the last bit of coffee from her thermos. He rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes to no avail. “Your brother has just landed,” he says, and Charlie nods, handing her empty cup to a passing engineer.

“Come on, then,” she urges him. “I’ve got a truck already waiting for us.”

The walk to the truck is silent, but Reeve keeps up at her side, towering over her and allowing Charlie to hold onto his arm. He’s been keeping an abnormally close eye on her lately after a recent incident at her father’s estate—a small riot had broken out just outside of the gates, and one man had been brave enough to scale the walls before being forcefully arrested by Tseng on the doorstep.

The breach of her private security at home was one of the reasons she had decided to move, the other reason being that the place was too empty, and with the Turks finally beginning to step back and allow her more independence, she’s alone most nights.

Reeve climbs into the driver’s seat, but Charlie doesn’t mind. He takes the truck slow down the road, careful not to toss her out upon hitting a pothole at too high a speed. The wind isn’t so cold anymore, so she doesn’t quite mind the truck being topless.

When they’re far enough away from the camp, lost within the thicket of trees, and the canopy above blocking out the sunshine, Reeve seems to feel it’s safe enough to talk. 

“Forgive me, Miss Shinra . . . I don’t want to take away from what you’ve done here, nor do I intend to . . .” he begins, and Charlie narrows her eyes, glancing sideways at him as he speeds the truck up.

“Say what you will, Reeve. I don’t mind.”

“Yes, Miss Shinra. I should just warn you . . . I don’t know that your brother is very fond of the work that you’ve been doing here.”

Charlie clenches her jaw, thinking hard. “Why do you say that? Did he say something?”

Reeve clears his throat awkwardly. 

“Go on,” she tells him warmly, flashing him a smile that turns his cheeks pink. “You can always speak freely around me. You know that. When have I ever minded?” When he still seems reluctant, Charlie frowns. “We’re friends.”

“Of course, Miss Shinra, it’s just . . . there have been rumors circulating around Headquarters.” He turns his head slightly to gauge her reaction. “It’s being said that your brother would rather see the department shut down than continue successfully.”

“I would know who you heard these rumors from,” Charlie says in a low voice, “and I will have the Turks put a stop to it immediately.”

“Yes, Miss Shinra.”

Charlie breathes in heavily. “Rufus loves me, and he respects my work. He’s told me so himself.”

“He has, Miss Shinra.”

“I know Rufus better than anyone, and he would never go behind my back to undermine my dream, no matter his personal feelings. I know that his interest in outer space is . . . minimal, however.” She tries to keep her voice level and calm. “I should have that rumor-monger thrown in a cell for even suggesting something so cruel. Who was it? Was it Heidegger?”

“Just something I overheard in the lavatory one day,” Reeve answers coolly, smiling reassuringly at her. She doesn’t doubt his words—he’s an honest man who has only ever been truthful with her. “Low level staff, surely, looking to seem in the know. I only wanted to warn you, should you receive a welcome that is . . . less than warm.”

“Since when has Rufus ever been warm?” 

Though it’s only a joke, neither of them laugh. There’s too much truth behind it. She loves her brother, very dearly, but he takes far too much after their father, no matter how much he seeks to deny it. 

“I’ve always thought your brother was cold, even as a boy. I hope you don’t think I’m being rude.”

“No, it’s fine.” She gives him another small smile to let him know she isn’t upset. “I know.”

They approach the clearing shortly afterwards, where Rufus is already waiting for them, wearing a clean-cut, perfectly trimmed, bright white suit. The wind lifts his light blond hair for a moment, the same shade as Charlie’s. 

Their mother used to tell them they could have been twins, and it’s a shame she hadn’t been around long enough to see them now, more alike in appearances now than they had been as little children. 

Leaving the truck idling, Charlie and Reeve slide out to greet them. Rufus is not alone today; dressed in the dark blue uniform of the Turks is a girl no older than Charlie herself, thick hair pulled back into a ponytail with wide doe eyes. 

Freyra, the girl calls herself, a naive thing and far too excitable for her own good, a Turk that she has butted heads with in the past before. Veld had once told Charlie that Freyra had grown up in a hunting family in Mideel, giving her an advantage when it came to firearms. Even now, a heft shotgun hangs from a leather belt around her slim waist.

“Sister,” Rufus says by way of greeting. Charlie approaches him and he kisses her cheek affectionately. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” Charlie gestures towards the truck. “Should we get going?”

The four of them move together towards the truck. Rufus automatically jumps into the backseat, and Reeve positions himself once more behind the steering wheel. Freyra leaps up beside Rufus before Charlie has the chance to, and her brother gives the Turk an incredulous and angry look.

“What are you doing?” Rufus snaps, an ugly scowl on his face.

“Sir?” Freyra asks hesitantly, blinking in surprise and hovering a few inches above the cushioned seat.

“That’s my sister’s seat, you imbecile.”

Freyra flushes brilliantly, jumping from the truck as if it’s burned her. Clambering up into the passenger seat beside Reeve, Freyra allows Charlie to take her rightful position, privately very pleased with her brother’s reaction.

Reeve backs the truck up and begins the slow drive back to base camp. With the wind blowing hard in their faces, Charlie knows their conversation will not be heard by either Reeve or Freyra up front.

“You know this _Captain_ Highwind came by the hangar the other day?” He spits Cid’s title with disdain, making Charlie frown.

“Oh? He didn’t mention it.”

“Wanting to see his ship, he said. _His_ ship,” Rufus repeats with a snarl. “It’s our ship, Shinra’s ship. And he has the audacity to come to the hangar dressed head-to-toe in rags, looking as if he’s never washed a day in his life. _His ship_ , he tells me.” He scoffs. “Whatever his reasons for being there, I’m certain he was only looking for you.”

Charlie shrugs, smiling slightly and ignoring the last bit. “It _has_ got his last name on it, you know.”

“If it had been up to me, it would never have been named after him. What a ridiculous name.”

“It never would have been built without him,” Charlie reminds her brother kindly, not wanting to stoke his anger further on what should be a happy day. “What do you have against him anyway?”

“He disgusts me, in the simplest terms. He smells of stale cigarette smoke all the time, and he talks like he’s illiterate. I think he _is_ illiterate.”

Charlie swats at Rufus’s arm playfully. Anyone else and he would take their hand for touching him any rougher than necessary, but not Charlie, never Charlie. All he does it smooth the fabric of his suit.

“He’s not illiterate, I can assure you of that. He’s the heart and soul of my department. He’s been flying for more than half his life, was top of his class at the academy, came with glowing references . . . and he’s passionate about this.”

Rufus narrows his eyes at her in suspicion. “Are you in love with him?”

“No,” Charlie says, blushing heatedly.

“Good. He’s positively vile.”

“He’s my friend,” she protests firmly. “And it would please me if you would just pretend to like him today, or at least remain silent if you’ve nothing kind to say to him.”

“Do you realize how truly lucky you are that I love you?” Rufus asks her, his tone sharp as a whip. It almost makes Charlie feel as if he’s accusing her of something. “If you weren’t my sister, I’d have balked.”

“I’m sure you will still _balk_ in private, despite me being your sister.”

Rufus hums, staring out at the passing forest for a moment. “Cid Highwind . . .” he muses. “I should have been the firstborn,” he continues bitterly. Charlie has never known anyone more bitter than Rufus. “I should have been the older sibling, the big brother, and you, my little sister, my charge. No inbred pilot would ever speak to you in that _crass_ way of his if you had been _my_ little sister.”

It’s funny, Charlie thinks, for Rufus could very well be her older brother. All of her life, or as much as she can remember of it, she’s looked up to Rufus, envied his relationship with their father, envied the way Rufus has always been so involved in the family business.

It had always been Rufus who stood up for her in front of their father (something that earned him several beatings when they were young). It had always been Rufus who provided her with what she needed via their father . . . and it had been Rufus who was chosen as vice president in the end.

 _Because he’s my son,_ Father had told her when she finally gathered the courage to ask why she had been passed over. 

Regardless of President Shinra’s answer, Charlie knew that the sole reason she was passed over was because she had been born a girl, and he had no intention of taking a _girl_ under his wing, groomed to run a company.

“Cut him some slack, Rufus, please. He’s only excited about the project. Tomorrow he’ll be among the stars, and you won’t have to think of him anymore.”

“You’re a romantic, Charlie. There’s nothing up there that’s more important than what’s down here.”

“You don’t know that,” Charlie says. “Shinra is about to launch a man into territory completely unknown and unexplored. You don’t know what we’ll find out there.” She chews her lower lip for a moment. “I wish Mother was here to see it all.”

Rufus doesn’t answer, only continues his silent brooding, looking at the trees thinning as they approach base camp again. With a look of indifference, Rufus scans the area, taking in the sights and the massive rocket looming larger as they grow closer.

Yet instead of excitement upon looking over the sprawling tent city, she feels only anxiety and nervousness, the desire to impress Rufus making Charlie’s heart pound and her palms all sweaty.

Once the truck is parked, Reeve and Freyra open the back doors for both Charlie and Rufus. Reeve places a hand on her shoulder, noticing her disappointment and clearly sympathizing. His touch makes her a little more confident.

Charlie turns towards him, placing her lips close to his ear. “Can you go find Cid and have him ready the other pilots for the airshow? And tell them it must be _perfect_ , no less.”

Reeve nods, standing up straight. “Yes, Miss Shinra. Right away.”

“Can I give you the tour, Rufus?” Charlie asks as Reeve melts away, seeking out Cid and sticking out amongst her crew like a sore thumb.

“Very well,” Rufus replies. “Let’s see what Father has been funneling all of his money into.”


	2. Chapter 2

part ii: _the rehearsal_

* * *

“Wow! Miss Shinra, this is incredible! I’ve never seen airplanes fly like that before! So . . . so _coordinated!_ So in sync!”

Charlie and Reeve exchange an inconspicuous look before returning their gazes to the sky. Cid and his men _do_ put on a wonderful show, one that everyone seems to be thoroughly enjoying, save for Rufus, who continues to watch with obvious disinterest, clearly only watching at all to appease Charlie. 

Cid’s _Tiny Bronco_ leads the others across the barren blue sky, barrel-rolling and zig-zagging and leaving cloudy-looking tails behind them.

“That Captain Cid sure is something . . .” Freyra says distractedly and to no one in particular, staring up at the airplanes as they fly overhead again, little engines buzzing like over-sized bees. “I heard he’s the best pilot Shinra’s ever seen.”

“An overstatement. An exaggeration,” Rufus answers quickly, and Charlie doesn’t bother to correct him, knowing arguing is futile.

“I don’t like her,” Charlie whispers to Reeve, folding her arms over her chest. Freyra is far too entranced by the show to hear anything else going on around her. “I don’t know why you’ve brought her with you today, Rufus. I thought for certain you might bring Veld, or at least Reno.”

“Are you _jealous_ of her, sister?” Rufus moves closer to Charlie, all three of them looking at Freyra’s back, her long ponytail waving as her head turns from side-to-side, watching the airshow with complete awe.

“Why would I be jealous?” Charlie asks quietly, and she sees a small smile tug at the corners of Reeve’s lips. 

“Worried that your captain might be making eyes at someone other than yourself?” Rufus asks, an eyebrow cocked and look of disdain upon his face.

Charlie scoffs. “Cid has eyes only for our rocket. She’s more beautiful than anything, or any _one_ else here.”

The airplanes, completely synchronized, fly up into the wispy clouds before diving down, swirling together at the last minute. Rufus sighs heavily, bored, walking away from Charlie and Reeve. She immediately turns back to her friend to carry on their conversation.

“Do you think if I asked Veld nicely enough, he would get rid of her?”

“Not without reasonable cause. I think being a Turk is for life, unfortunately.” Reeve smiles down at her, chuckling when he sees the disappointment clear on her face. “But I’ll see what can be done about limiting her trips to base camp. I’m sure Veld will be more than happy to oblige you. In any case, it doesn’t seem as if your brother is very attached to her.”

Charlie hums, smiling. It’s the truth—whenever Rufus does offer Freyra a chance glance, it’s only to look at her with pure contempt.

“She almost looks like you,” Reeve notes, and when Charlie’s eyes fix upon his face, it’s to find a teasing smile there. “Perhaps if you had been raised poor, hungry, and in the slums . . .”

“I don’t know whether or not to chastise you for that remark.” They smile shyly at each other, and Reeve’s cheekbones take on a pinkish hue. “If I’m ever given the chance at the presidency, I’m going to do it with you at my side, do you know that?”

“Yes. Thank you, Miss Shinra.”

“Reeve, please, you can stop calling me that now,” Charlie tells him, exasperated. “I think we’re past that point by now, don’t you think? You can call me Charlie, or Char, or Charlotte. Anything, so long as my last name isn’t involved.”

“That’s very sweet, but with all due respect, I’d prefer to keep things . . . _professional_ in the vicinity of your brother.”

“But you’ll call me Charlie when he’s not around, won’t you?”

Reeve clears his throat, hands held behind him, and he nods. “Yes, if that would make you happy.”

“Fair enough.”

Charlie watches as the _Tiny Bronco_ breaks off from the group as they continue on with their rehearsal. Cid lands perfectly on a fresh strip of flattened grass just beyond the camp, lifting his goggles up to rest upon his forehead, leaving pink imprints around his eyes. 

His yellow hair sticks up in every direction, wind-swept and disheveled, his cheeks bright pink as he walks over to them, that arrogant strut of his that Charlie can’t help but find endearing, walking as if he _knows_ he’s the most important person around for hundreds of miles. 

Rufus must hate it.

Cid struts right up to Charlie’s side, removing his gloves and sighing happily, eyes flicking from Charlie to Reeve to Rufus and, finally, landing on Freyra, his eyes sweeping up and down her body before looking away. “Hi,” he says lamely. “We’re glad you could make it, Mr. Vice President. Your sister was real excited to show you ‘round.”

“Captain,” Rufus replies shortly, sharing a knowing look at Charlie. 

“What’dya think, Lottie?” Cid asks breathlessly, looking up at the sky again to catch the airplanes flying above them. Rufus’s face hardens instantly upon hearing this affectionate nickname for her. 

Charlie raises her eyebrows sternly at Cid, trying to silently communicate with him. He has the grace to blush upon realizing his mistake. “It was—”

“— _amazing!_ ” Freyra finishes, earning her not one, but three cold glares, one each from Charlie, Reeve, and Rufus. Oblivious, she prattles on. “Wow! I’ve never seen anything like it before!”

“Damn right,” Cid replies, casting an awkward look in Charlie’s direction and giving her a slightly crooked smile. “We’ve been workin’ long and hard on that show. Impressed, Charlie?”

Charlie can feel Rufus’s eyes boring a hole into her temple. Charlie is better than Lottie, at least. Straightening up the best she can, she nods politely. “Very,” she answers. “Rufus, what do you think?”

“I’d like to know why you’ve been wasting time coordinating an airshow and fireworks when there’s real work to be done,” Rufus says in a sharp tone, clearly catching Cid off guard, but not causing him to falter. “Aren’t there better things to be done during the afternoon before launch? You must not think my sweet sister’s time is very important if you’ve been doing nothing but playing around.”

“Come on, Rufus, they’re just having a little fun,” Charlie cuts in, reaching out to place a steady hand on her brother’s forearm. He doesn’t flinch, but his eyes stay fixed upon Cid as if still expecting an answer. “You have to admit it’s quite a sight, isn’t it? There’s no entertainment quite like it in Midgar.”

Rufus hums, looking away, refusing to glance upwards at the sky again.

“Forgive my brother,” Charlie tells Cid, frowning apologetically. “Flying has never been an interest or passion for him as it has been for us. I fear an airshow is lost on him.”

“Look, Mr. Vice President,” Cid begins, his voice coming out much deeper than Charlie knows it really is. “I understand your concern, but I can assure you that there’s nothin’ more important to us than gettin’ that beauty off the ground tomorrow. I have every expectation of bein’ the first man in space when we launch tomorrow.”

“I’ll be cheering you on, Cid,” Freyra smiles sweetly, drawing Charlie’s eyes towards her. “I know it’ll be great.”

“Perhaps you could take some lessons from your superiors about how to behave while in the presence of myself and my brother,” Charlie hisses, causing Freyra to go bright red. “It’s proper etiquette to keep your mouth closed while the adults are talking, _Turk_.”

Freyra looks away dejectedly, looking far younger, a beaten pup with her tail between her legs. Her hair falls on either side of her face, doing a mediocre job at hiding her furious flush. 

Rufus watches the scene unfold carefully, crossing his arms over his chest and forcing himself to smile at Cid, although his smile is far more malicious. “Forgive my sister,” he says, and Charlie blushes preemptively, knowing he’ll only embarrass her. “She becomes rather intimidated and insecure while in the presence of other women she considers competition. She means nothing by it.”

Cid looks as if he’s walked himself right into a trap and is afraid to continue, but he does, looking towards Freyra, who refuses to meet anyone’s eyes. “Right . . . er . . . I don’t really mind if she talks or not . . . she’s just excited, Lottie.” Perhaps he avoids looking into Charlie’s face to avoid the dangerous look she gives him. Still looking at the Turk, he asks, “What’s your name again?”

“Freyra,” she says quietly, still looking sheepish. “I’m Vice President Shinra’s escort today.”

“I wouldn’t be here if my own sister weren’t the head of the department,” Rufus says, looking around with boredom written all over his handsome features. “Space and rockets . . . space travel isn’t worth the time or money. If I were president, I’d shut the entire thing down and give my brilliant sister something far more important to handle. Unlike my father, I wouldn’t underestimate my sister’s genius.”

“Well, your father sure thinks it’s important,” Cid replies, unsure of himself. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have put so much money towards the project, and he wouldn’t have had his own daughter keepin’ tabs on the program. And she’s doin’ a damn good job at it, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, sir.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Captain, I’m _not_ my father,” Rufus retorts coldly. 

Charlie’s ears perk up as she hears something grumble from a distance, a buzzing noise that she recognizes with ease. “Do you guys hear something?” she asks, breaking up whatever conversation has just started between Cid and Freyra. 

Reeve, taller than anyone, looks around camp quickly. “It sounds like a plane. There isn’t supposed to be another show, is there?”

Cid scratches the back of his head. “No, didn’t plan on it . . .”

Freyra is the first to spot it, pointing to a place just over Charlie’s shoulder, who whirls around in a flash of silver hair. “Someone’s taking off in the _Tiny Bronco!_ ”

“Bastards!” Cid grumbles, his hand moving to his shoulder, grasping empty air when he realizes he’s left his long spear by his tent. “Shit! Who is it? Charlie, what’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t know who he is,” Charlie tells Rufus, watching a bulky-looking man attempt to work the controls in the _Tiny Bronco_. He spares a few nervous glances at Charlie and Rufus and their companions before the airplane begins to take off again. “I know everyone here, and I don’t know who that is.”

“Shoot him,” Rufus instructs Freyra flatly.

“Hold on!” Cid shouts, looking bewildered. “You’ll bring the whole plane down!”

“Keep an eye on my sister, since she’s refused a Turk today,” Rufus commands Reeve next, who moves too quickly for his own good to protect her. 

“I got it!” Cid says again, but Charlie calls his name before he can get very far. He turns around at the sound of her voice, looking desperate and very, very angry.

“You can’t go!” Charlie yells, wriggling in Reeve’s hold as he pulls her to his chest, trying to get her clear of the area. Slipping free from him, she takes a few steps forward as the _Tiny Bronco_ stops and starts again, its gears grinding. “Without you, our rocket can’t be launched!” She looks around at her party again. “Freyra, _you_ go.”

Charlie expects Freyra to protest, or at least look slightly hesitant or apprehensive, but instead, the girl is proud to be given such a command. “All right, I’m on it! I’ll be back, Mr. Vice President, sir!”

They all watch her go before Reeve tries again to remove Charlie from the premises. He keeps his left arm wrapped around her shoulders, giving him good control over her, keeping her close, and this time, she doesn’t fight it. 

Cid grabs the headset resting around his tanned and sweaty neck, lifting them to his ears and looking into the sun as Freyra leaps into the _Tiny Bronco_ ’s small cockpit just as the man attempts to lift off the ground, the wheels rolling along on the grass and the propellers shifting tents and blowing everyone’s hair around. 

“Does she even know how to fly a plane?” Charlie hisses at Rufus. “I could have gotten the plane back and landed it safely, without question!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rufus snaps. “She’s dispensable. You’re not.”

The four of them watch the plane for a moment as it takes off from the ground. Cid swears loudly all the while, holding tight to the headset over his ears, waiting for someone to speak to him, or for someone to speak to. 

It takes off right over their heads, the engine growling as it climbs higher and higher, steady at first, and then when it passes through a low cloud, something begins to happen. 

The _Tiny Bronco_ wobbles dangerously, losing altitude at a pace that suggests Cid is about to lose his prized possession, but the nose suddenly looks towards the clouds, leveling itself out, but listing slightly to the right with one of the wings pointed towards the ground. 

“Freyra!” Cid shouts into the microphone that grazes his lips. “Freyra, can you hear me? Did you get control of the plane back?”

He waits a moment, and then a smile graces his face, a triumphant one, and he punches the air with his fist, nearly leaping up off the ground.

“Listen, honey, you’ve gotta land it now, and I don’t wanna see a single scratch on her when she touches down . . . I’m gonna walk you through it, so listen close . . . hey, listen, I know you can do it . . . I need you to listen to me carefully and don’t stop payin’ attention even for one second!”

Charlie listens to Cid guide Freyra through the process of flying the _Tiny Bronco_ to a satisfactory landing zone. Reeve releases Charlie, who moves to stand beside Rufus. Her brother’s eyes are back on the sky, watching the plane wobble and drop and rise again, but Charlie is too busy watching Cid, watching him smile as he teases Freyra about flying, watching him chuckle nervously when fireworks are set off and nearly hit his baby, his pride and joy. 

The fireworks might even have been enjoyable had Charlie not known it was Freyra in Cid’s plane, Freyra distracted _her_ pilot, _her_ captain.

Finally, after clearing the fireworks and circling a field, Cid instructs Freyra clearly and slowly how to land the plane, reminding her several times not to dent his plane or scratch it or land it too hard or waste too much fuel or mess up the cockpit—all in good fun, of course. 

He continues to tease her all the while, and Charlie continues to watch, uninterested in the _Tiny Bronco_ ’s safe return, only concerned about how Cid hasn’t bothered to look once in her direction since the plane went into the air. 

“You _are_ jealous, aren’t you?” Rufus asks smugly, giving his sister a sideways look. “Gods, I think I’m going to vomit, Charlie.”

Charlie doesn’t blush until she notices that Reeve is listening, as well, waiting a little too eagerly for her answer. “I’m not jealous. I just think it’s irresponsible of him to succumb to distractions when there’s so much riding on his performance tomorrow.” 

“Lying has always come naturally to you, Charlie,” Rufus answers, sighing as the plane touches down just beyond the chocobo pen. “But _I’ve_ always been able to tell when you’re lying.” Looking over Charlie’s head to glance at Reeve, Rufus adds, “If that pilot touches her, I want to know so I can have his hands removed.”

Reeve hesitates for the briefest second. “Yes, sir.”

Freyra wanders back over to them with the air of someone who’s recently just been ravished, but her face is tinted slightly green. She’s grinning, revealing a mouthful of bright white teeth, her front two slightly overlarge. “Did you see that!” she tells them all, still oblivious to everything except Cid’s absolute delight that the _Tiny Bronco_ is safe and sound again. 

“Did you see who stole the plane in the first place?” Charlie asks sharply before she can answer. 

“Well, no, but . . . he, well . . . he ran off when we landed . . .”

“And you just let him?” Rufus continues, his eyes narrowed. “What kind of Turk are you?”

Freyra mouths wordlessly for a moment, watching as Rufus makes a show of his disappointment. “They’re probably long gone by now.”

Though Cid looks skeptical, he shrugs his shoulders. “You’re not bad in a plane, you know,” he tells Freyra, whose chest suddenly swells right back up again.

“It helps when you have Shinra’s best pilot talking you through it,” Freyra answers, kicking distractedly at the grass, her eyes on her feet. 

Cid’s cheeks flush pink with pride, and he rubs the back of his neck, trying his best to appear modest. “I’d like to thank you. Y’know . . . I could give you a tour of the rocket, if you’re interested.”

“Really?” Freyra asks excitedly. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah, sure,” Cid says, giving a humble and falsely casual shrug. “It’s the least I can do.”

“That sounds great, but . . .” Freyra looks over her shoulder at Rufus before glancing back at Cid. “I shouldn’t. I’m supposed to be with the vice president today.”

Charlie clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention within the drop of a hat, angry that she’s been completely forgotten in the midst of everything, angry that nothing is being done about the man who tried to steal the _Tiny Bronco._

“Reeve and I have business to attend to,” she announces, pleased to see something flicker in Cid’s eyes, his excitement lessening. “My brother will go with you. He’s yet to see the rocket.”

It’s clear that this is the last thing Rufus wants to do, and he thankfully bites back the cruel jab he has forming on his tongue. His typically handsome face is stony again, a look that Charlie is very familiar with. Blue eyes settle on Reeve as Rufus takes a few steps closer to Charlie.

“Don’t let my sister out of your sight.”

“Yes, sir,” Reeve answers coolly. 

Rufus gives Charlie another chaste kiss on her cheek. Cid doesn’t look away from her face until her back is to him. 

“Let’s go, Reeve,” Charlie murmurs, and he doesn’t answer, but falls into step with her as she walks away from her brother and companions, back towards her tent. She releases the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when they’re out of earshot of everyone else. “Doesn’t it bother you that no one seemed to care much about who was trying to steal the _Tiny Bronco_?”

“I’m sure it was only an isolated incident. Someone who likely grew far too bold and bored.” Reeve smiles pleasantly down at her. “I can have someone look into it, if you’d like. Have no fear.”

“You _know_ how much is riding on this launch,” she sighs. “If the smallest thing doesn’t go right, it’ll mean the end of me and Shinra until my father is in his grave, where he’ll rise again to scold me for _something._ ” Charlie strokes her chin, thinking hard. “I don’t want that girl here tomorrow. We can’t afford any distractions.”

“I can speak to Veld about it. I’m sure he’ll be understanding.”

“No. Don’t worry about it.” It’s not really Reeve’s job to do things like that for her anyway. Still trying to calm the burning rage inside of her, Charlie continues, knowing he will listen. “You realize I could have done what that Turk did without Cid whispering in my ear? I could have handled it myself. I can fly—you _know_ I can fly. You’ve seen me. It should have been me.”

“Your brother was right,” Reeve counters. “It doesn’t matter if you could do it or not. Your life means much more than Freyra’s does. The launch does not depend on her life, but yours.”

“The launch could go on without me, so long as Cid was still here to operate the rocket.” Charlie sighs again, this time wistfully. “I wish I could go. This is all I’ve ever wanted, but . . . I thought, if this ever happened, it would be _me_ in the rocket, sent up into space.”

“We need you on the ground,” he insists, approaching Charlie’s tent and holding the entrance flap open for her as she ducks inside. “And I highly doubt that the captain would be happy if Charlotte Shinra were removed as Head of the Space Exploration Department.”

Charlie pauses in the middle of her tent, surprised at the amount of venom that drips from Reeve’s tone at the mention of Cid. As far as she knows, Reeve has nothing against Cid. They’ve hardly spoken to each other. 

She watches him discreetly as he fidgets about the tent, making sure all of her paperwork is stacked neatly on her makeshift desk, perfectly positioning her fountain pens, checking that her few lanterns inside aren’t being wasted during the daylight hours. 

Charlie finds the tent rather stuffy and humid, despite the chill outdoors. “Are you all right?”

Reeve’s mouth becomes a hard, thin line, almost non-existent. “Yes, forgive me. Pre-launch nerves, I think.”

She continues to watch him until he walks right up to her, tucking her hair behind her ears and adjusting her jacket and necklace and scarf. Charlie smiles. “I know. My heart is going a million miles a minute. Feel it.”

She takes his wrist before he has time to raise a cry of protest, placing his palm to her chest, just above her left breast. Reeve swallows hard, pulling his hand away after a few seconds to awkwardly rub at his wrist. It discourages her. 

“Do you think Freyra is pretty?” Charlie asks softly, hoping for the truth.

The question seems to make him uncomfortable. “Objectively, I suppose . . . I suppose she is _objectively_ good-looking, yes.”

It makes her heart sink into her stomach. “Do you think _I’m_ pretty, Reeve?”

This time, he answers without hesitation. He doesn’t even think about it. “Of course I do. You _know_ that I do, Miss Shinra.” He quickly catches his mistakes and rectifies it. “ _Charlie._ ”

Charlie takes a moment to look him over while he’s so close. _Objectively,_ he isn’t bad-looking. He’s clean, with dark hair that shines and a young face inscribed with a serious expression that makes him look rather unapproachable, despite his genuine kindness. His cleanly-shaven jaw is strong and square, and though he’s not a Turk, he dresses like one, in a dark suit that seems to reek of money.

She’s always found him handsome. 

Even now, Charlie still remembers the day she had first met Reeve. It had been Rufus who was officially introduced to him during a board meeting, so Charlie had only met him while wandering the halls of the Shinra Building’s executive floors, flying a small, motorized model airplane that she had built. 

Charlie had been sixteen at the time, and Reeve no older than twenty-five and dead handsome, even after her airplane had struck him right in his broad chest and fallen to the floor with both flimsy wings snapped clean in half. 

But what struck her as odd was that she didn’t know him. Charlie knew all of her father’s important employees, the ones she loved and the ones she hated, knew the rotation schedule of the guards that kept watch over the higher floors. She _had_ to know, otherwise she wouldn’t have known who had the day’s gossip or who might be around to give her a trinket to put on her bedroom shelf. 

Regardless, she remembers having been frightened at first. Rufus had liked to tell her that people might want to hurt their father, to kill him and possibly _them_ , and seeing a stranger in her father’s building—on a keycard floor, no less—came as quite a shock to her. 

But Reeve had been kind and warm, despite the somber and sullen look to him, just as he’s always been to her. He had picked up her airplane and looked it over critically with his eyebrows knitted together, his dark eyes widening in comprehension upon taking in the sight of her. 

“You must be Miss Shinra,” he said to her, his voice low. “I’m sorry, I’m not—I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Reeve. Reeve Tuesti.”

Charlie had taken a few fearful steps backwards. The name was unfamiliar to her, and she knew _all_ the names.

“I’ve just come from a meeting with your father and brother. I’ll be working more closely with your father for a while,” he had continued, well-spoken for a young man and very sweet. “Is this where you’ve been instead of attending board meetings? Though, admittedly, this is probably far more interesting than talking with me would be.”

“I’m not allowed in meetings,” Charlie had confessed baldly. “And you’ve broken my airplane. I’ll have it back now.”

Reeve had continued to turn it over in his hands, admiring it. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Yes, and it took me a long time. Now I’ll have to rebuild it.”

“You’re an engineer, are you?”

Charlie had crossed her arms, sizing him up, wanting to appear older. “It’s one of the things I’d like to be. You’ll be a weapons manufacturer, then?”

Reeve frowned then, looking rather concerned. “No, certainly not. I’m an architect.” He had given her plane back with gentle hands, cradling it like a baby bird. “Do you still have any sketches or anything?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, perhaps you might let me have a look at them,” he suggested. “And perhaps I could draw up some designs for you. It’s the least I can do for breaking your airplane, though no guarantee I’ll sketch them well.” Reeve had smiled at her afterwards and she had been lost in him, taking those few steps to close the distance between them. 

“You would do that for me? Do you have an office yet? Can I bring my drawings by right now? You’re not busy, are you?” She had held up her plane to show him. Reeve had towered over her then, when she had been a gawky and awkward teenager. “I’ve had some ideas about the way the tail is designed. Could I show you? Have you ever worked on airplanes before? Or any ship? What are you going to be designing for my father? Are you going to design us a new house?”

Reeve had laughed and Charlie had been enamoured by his laughter. She had helped him move into his new office on the sixty-fifth floor, and then she had convinced one of the pilots to fly her to her father’s estate in a helicopter, where she had promptly gathered all of her drawings and brought them back to Reeve’s office.

For years now, he’s allowed her to come and go whenever she pleases, sometimes the two of them working on separate projects into the small hours of the night in silence. Once, she had fallen asleep on the leather sofa in his office, and Reeve had tossed a blanket over her and let her sleep until morning. 

Charlie thought that, after that, he would be furious with her, and she successfully avoided him for three days, only relenting when Reeve tracked her down after chasing her around for hours. 

He’s always brought Charlie vague details from meetings she wasn’t allowed in, always made her laugh, always shared gossip with her that he heard from sneaking around Headquarters. 

She had brought him to see _LOVELESS_ for the first time and had been more concerned about watching his expressions than watching the actual play, and he always called her ‘Miss Shinra’, even when she would insist otherwise. 

Now, six years later, it seems his new job as the head of a department has worn him down and sucked most of the life and humor from him. 

Charlie takes his hands and laces their fingers together, squeezing. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only true friend I’ve ever had. Where would I be without you? What would I do?”

Reeve looks down at their hands. “You would probably have launched yourself into space long ago, had I not been here to hold you back.”

“I’d have begged you to come with me,” she confesses, laughing softly. “I would never have left without you.” Charlie shakes her head, letting go of his hands. “I’m nervous. What if something goes wrong tomorrow?”

“Everything will be perfect.” Reeve touches her face, smiling reassuringly and lowering her hands when she begins to squirm. “Tonight . . . _LOVELESS_ is playing at nine. Why don’t I take you downtown and we have a nice dinner and see a show, and in the morning, we’ll be here, right on time, to watch your rocket launch the first man into space?”

She remembers the half-hearted _we’ll see_ she gave Cid when he’d asked her to stay late. But she also remembers Cid forgetting she was around when Freyra had arrived. “I have a lot of things to finalize tonight,” she says, smiling apologetically at Reeve. “You don’t have to stay with me once Rufus leaves. I’ll call for a helicopter and, if I get home in time for the show, I’ll call you.”

“Are you sure I—”

“Lottie!” The tent flaps opens hurriedly with a _snap!_ and Cid appears, alone, in the entrance, eyes flicking between Reeve and Charlie and back again, as if he can’t quite get a read on the situation. Regardless, he gives his head a shake. “We’re missing an oxygen tank on the rocket.”

Charlie frowns, her heart skipping a beat. “Well, where did it go?”

“Dunno, but a little help lookin’ would be nice!”

As soon as Cid races from the tent, Charlie turns to Reeve and swears quietly. “Get my father on the phone by the time we return. If that _stupid_ Turk hadn’t let that mane scape, I’m sure this could have been prevented.”

Reeve only nods obediently. “As you wish,” he says, “Miss Shinra.”


	3. Chapter 3

part iii: _t_ _he stars_

* * *

“We would be putting a life at stake if we proceed with the launch tomorrow. The smartest thing to do would be to postpone the launch until we’re certain of the rocket’s safety.”

“Installing another oxygen tank isn’t difficult or time-consuming. We have our best technician working on installing it at this very moment. It should be finished by this evening, and we’ll have the proof of its safety by tomorrow morning, _before_ the launch.”

“Is it really wise to proceed so recklessly, sister?” Rufus looks at Charlie for a long time, sharing with her a glare that seems to communicate his fervent desire for an end to this. Reeve hadn’t been lying about her brother’s disinterest. “If something happens to the captain while he’s inside that rocket, you have lost your only trained astronaut. We would only be wasting money and time retraining someone else to replace him.”

Charlie casts Cid a sheepish glance, but he doesn’t seem fazed. “We’ve been preparing for this day for _years._ If we postpone the launch now, it will all have been for nothing, and it would cost thousands of gil in the long-run between payroll, extra food and supplies, the chocobos . . . it would be another six months at the earliest that we would be prepared for another launch.”

She sucks in a deep breath and stares down at the tiny phone sitting on the makeshift desk, Reeve’s outdated thing, blinking red to signal that it’s on speakerphone. Her father must be listening, but has not said a word since she and Rufus began their argument fifteen minutes ago. 

Gathered around the rickety desk in Charlie’s stuffy tent are herself and her brother with Cid squeezed between them, Freyra on her tip-toes behind Cid’s left shoulder, and Reeve at Charlie’s right shoulder, quiet as can be. They all stare down at the phone, waiting to see whose argument has convinced President Shinra. 

“ _Char is correct,_ ” he finally says, his voice coming through with a generous amount of static, but firm and decisive, his horrible nickname for her ringing in her ears. Deep within Charlie’s heart, however, fireworks explode. It’s a monumental day now that her father has sided with her. “ _We’ve funneled too much money into this program to postpone the launch now, and everyone is expecting it to go as scheduled. Char, if you are certain the replacement of the oxygen tank will go smoothly, I must insist we proceed tomorrow morning with the launch._ ”

Rufus scowls. “You’re willing to put your captain’s life on the line for this dream of yours?” he asks sharply. His scowl slowly turns into a sneer that seems to say _I’ve won._

“Captain Highwind knew what he signed up for when I recruited him,” Charlie answers, albeit hesitantly. The thought of anything happening to Cid because she refused to wait another six months to launch sickens her for a split second. They meet eyes. “He knows there are risks involved with any launch, but he’s still willing to proceed. I would do the same in his place.”

“ _Is this true?_ ” President Shinra asks brusquely, sounding very much as if there’s a fat cigar clenched between his teeth. 

“Yeah, it’s true, sir,” Cid replies with a shrug. His tone is too casual for Charlie’s liking. “I don’t mind. I’m willin’ to proceed, Mr. President.”

Freyra shifts uncomfortably, gasping. “But Cid . . . !”

Even Rufus seemed unnerved by his quick response, his hasty acceptance of a possible fiery death within the rocket. “You’re really willing to die for this?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Cid looks at Charlie’s profile, oblivious to the world around him. She’s too ashamed to look him in the face, ashamed that she’s willing to launch the rocket with him inside so soon after replacing something incredibly vital. “I just hope . . . if somethin’ _does_ happen . . . I hope I make it to outer space first. Your daughter has worked so hard to make our dreams come to life, sir, that I . . . I can’t let her down now. Not while she’s countin’ on me.”

Charlie looks up slowly at him, unaware that a simple gaze could set butterflies to fluttering about in her stomach. 

“Six months is a long time,” he continues quietly, speaking as if he’s speaking only to Charlie, as if they’re the only people in the tent. “I ain’t willin’ to wait that long when we have the opportunity to launch tomorrow.”

Rufus stiffens. “But Father—”

“ _Enough. I’ve heard enough. The boy is willing to die for your sister, if need be. We’re going to proceed as planned, and I won’t say another word about it._ ”

“It won’t come down to that, sir,” Cid promises with confidence. 

“Father, this is foolish. If the launch fails tomorrow—”

“It won’t,” Charlie corrects him.

Rufus silences her with a look. “If _I_ were president—”

“ _But you’re_ not _president, so it doesn’t matter what you would do,_ ” President Shinra replies coldly. “ _Char, I wish to speak to you privately. Send everyone away._ ”

Charlie’s stomach churns. She dismisses everyone (giving Reeve an encouraging little nod when he hesitates), but Cid refuses to go. No one says anything about it with President Shinra still on the line, and Charlie doesn’t mind his company so much. “I’m here, Father.”

“ _I want you to listen carefully to me, girl,_ ” her father begins, his voice much harder and sharper than it had been. Cid’s eyebrows knit together. “ _I have invested far too much time, energy, and money into your little_ hobby _to be let down tomorrow. If you cannot deliver on your promises, you will be removed as head of your department immediately. Do we understand each other?_ ”

Charlie swallows hard, a pit forming in her stomach. “Yes, Father.”

“ _I’m counting on you to make sure everything is perfect. I want a man in space tomorrow, not the next day, and certainly not in six months. Tomorrow._ ”

“Yes, Father.”

“ _The world will be watching, and I will not stand idly by while you single-handedly destroy Shinra’s reputation during a worldwide broadcast._ ”

The call ends with a _click!_ and Charlie exhales loudly, turning to Cid. She pauses, feeling very vulnerable, half-wishing that he hadn’t heard her own father speak to her with such scorn. “Did you really mean what you said?” she asks softly. 

“Yeah,” he answers in a hoarse voice, flattening the hair at the nape of his neck that sticks up with sweat. The silver dog tags around his neck jingle as he shifts awkwardly, the only evidence of his brief stint in the Shinra military. “I mean . . . c’mon, this is really important to the both of you, and . . . you’re kinda important to me, y’know.”

She blushes, making him smile in relief, but after such a tender confession, Charlie has to look away, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “I don’t want you to die for me.”

Cid scoffs, but softens instantly when he sees she doesn’t laugh or smile or look anything less than deadly serious. “Listen, Lottie, I really wanna show you somethin’ tonight.”

She forces herself to smile. “All right.”

“Yeah? Okay?”

Charlie nods. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

“Your, uh . . . _friend_ won’t mind?”

“Who? Reeve?” She chuckles, but it makes her feel guilty. Reminding herself that this may be the last night she has with Cid for a long while, she plunges on. “He’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Cid says again, still grinning crookedly.

“Okay,” Charlie repeats, breathless. 

She spends the rest of afternoon and most of the evening finalizing paperwork and organizing it in a thick binder dedicated to the project. Pink papers are contracts, white papers are ledgers detailing inventory, yellow papers give her salary details, orange papers are account statements, and there’s other paperwork for donations received and professional letters and housing assignments and general information. 

Most of them require her signature, a vast amount of them. She balances the accounts until her head aches from the dim lighting of the electric lights in her tent as the sun goes down, and it’s then that she remembers Cid wanted to meet her when the stars came out. 

By night, base camp is a very different thing. For one, it’s much rowdier. People celebrate the launch prematurely by drinking around a large bonfire, and the smell of cigarette smoke hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the remnants of their dinner. 

Reeve had brought her dinner in her tent, only a few hours ago, just when he thought it safe enough for him to take his leave of camp and her, heading back to Midgar in the helicopter they had come together in. 

“The rocket is . . .” He had paused, sighed, smiled and shaken his head. But he hadn’t ever finished his thought, and his smile had faded the longer he looked at her, until he finally excused himself with a _I’m sorry._

Charlie pulls her jacket tighter around her as she weaves through the tents and campfires. Several people toast her as she walks by, commanding the attention of them all. Others invite her into their tents to drink, or ask if she’d like a taste of the sweet cakes she had bought them all. She politely declines their offers, preferring to head straight to Cid’s tent before the sun goes down completely.

When she pokes her head inside of it, he’s not there.

“Cid?”

“‘Round back, Lottie.”

Charlie circles around the tent, her eyes widening in shock as the scene she intrudes upon. 

Cid has changed out of his dirty and soiled clothing, has decided to forego his flying goggles, and looks to have washed up a bit. He looks up at her and wipes his hands on a grease-stained rag, stepping away from a small motorcycle—an antique, judging by the rust building on it. Despite the chill, he’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, and the sight of his muscled arms makes Charlie look away, blushing again. 

Only sheer curiosity causes her to look back. Cid has always been handsome in a rugged and rough sort of way, his hair never combed and his cropped blond beard never evenly trimmed. The blond hair and blue eyes remind her of Rufus, and sometimes even Cid’s demeanor seems familiar—both of them blunt and to the point, never bothering to lie about the small things, their shared arrogance.

But their similarities don’t bother Charlie as much as she knows it should. Despite outward appearances and some of the same mannerisms, Cid isn’t her brother. He’s a good man with a good heart who dreams of things other than power, a romantic underneath his tough exterior, a diligent and reliable and hard-working man, unafraid to get dirty. 

When she realizes she’s staring at him, she looks away again. She isn’t certain whether or not Cid was just watching for her to finish her critical examination of him before speaking.

“You actually came,” he says gruffly, smiling all the same.

“Yes, now, what is it that you so desperately wanted to show me?” Charlie’s eyes flick towards the bike again. She can’t avoid looking at him forever. “It’s not this, I hope?”

“You like her? Built her myself.”

“This really _is_ the surprise, isn’t it?”

Cid laughs. “This is only half the surprise.” He picks up a wrinkled and heavy jacket that rustles when he slips it on, and then he heaves a small bag over one of his shoulders. “Ready for a ride?”

Charlie’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Ain’t got a helmet for you, so you better hold on tight,” he teases, lifting a leg up to straddle the leathery seat of his bike. With a swift and graceful kick, the bike’s engine roars to life, buzzing throughout the camp like a swarm of screaming insects. “Don’t think anyone would appreciate me bringin’ Miss Charlotte Shinra back to camp with her brains peekin’ out.”

“Are you sure there’s room for me?” She eyes the bike warily, excitement coursing through her.

“Just get on. We ain’t goin’ that far.”

Charlie swings her leg over the seat, careful not to kick Cid in the side. She settles just before the incline of the seat, feeling much as if she’s in a saddle, but the fit isn’t relatively bad. 

Cid urges her to hold on tight again, and she wraps her arms around his middle, pleasantly surprised when her forearms rest against the hard muscle of his stomach. He doesn’t falter at her touch, instead driving off so quickly that it almost gives her whiplash. 

The wind whistles in her ears as they clear base camp, driving on a bumpy and long-forgotten dirt road that leads far from the clearing where she had landed this morning. The sun has disappeared behind the trees, the sky turning dark and giving way to the stars. 

Cid’s jacket smells of oil and stale cigarette smoke, but she finds she doesn’t mind, and when she rests her cheek against his back to brace herself against the wind, Cid doesn’t flinch. She holds on tighter as he turns and drives them through a thatch of thin branches. He takes the brunt of it, some twigs snagging on his jacket, but snapping as the bike carries them further on, until they’re riding through another wide clearing underneath the inky black sky. 

Charlie gasps at the sight of all the stars visible as Cid slows the bike down in the middle of a vividly green field. With this area of the western continent relatively untouched by Shinra, the land is still lush and beautiful, green and colorful and blooming, unlike the barren and dry land that surrounds Midgar.

The area that Cid has brought her to is so wide that she can hardly see the treeline on the opposite side. It’s nothing but a grassy plain for what seems to be miles, the grass unkempt and wild, tickling her calves and the backs of her knees in some places. 

The moon casts a beautiful white shadow down upon them, giving Charlie enough visibility so she isn’t troubled. She cranes her neck back to look up at the sky again after taking in her surroundings. 

When Cid kills the engine, Charlie disentangles herself from him and allows him to jump off, offering out his hand to help her down. He watches her carefully as her eyes dart from left to right, up and down, hardly able to believe that there is any place in the world so beautiful as this. 

“You can never see the stars like this over Midgar,” she tells him, feeling winded from their ride out here. Charlie glances over her shoulder, unable to see any small sign of base camp beyond the forest. 

Cid smiles. “‘Course not. All that pollution . . . this is the best way to look at the stars.” He lets go of her hand, and Charlie is stunned to realize she didn’t even know he had been holding it. “C’mere. I brought somethin’ for us to drink.”

She follows him to an area of the field that’s clearly seen use. The grass is flattened as if someone had been lying here, and when Cid lowers himself to the ground with a grunt, his body fits perfectly. He withdraws two bottles from his bag, opening them with the butt of his cigarette lighter and holding one out for her.

“Beer?” she asks, sitting down beside him.

“Hope it’s not beneath you.”

“No.” Charlie blushes again, taking the bottle from him. “I drink beer. I just thought, maybe, you might take better care of yourself before you’re launched into outer space.”

Cid shrugs, taking a long swig. “Unless you’ve secretly packed me some beer for the trip, then I’m gonna make sure I drink my fill ‘fore tomorrow, when I’m forced to be sober for . . . shit, I dunno how long. Won’t even have no cigarettes to sustain me.”

She studies his profile as he gazes up at the sky, studies his hands as they reach deftly for a cigarette to put to his lips, studies his thumb as it flicks across his lighter. “Was this what you wanted to show me?” she asks again, unable to tear her gaze away from his lips, the way they form around the butt of his cigarette. 

“Yeah,” Cid answers bashfully, very unlike himself. “It’s my favorite place to come to drink, and probably the second best place to see the stars. The first would be outer space, obviously, but since you won’t be there with me for that . . .”

“I wish I was going with you.” Charlie smiles when he turns to look her full in the face. “I would give anything to be going with you.”

He sighs heavily, lying back in the grass and puffing on his cigarette. “You, me, and the stars, huh?” He side-eyes her as she takes a drink of her beer. “You gonna c’mere, or are you gonna make me beg?”

She blinks in surprise, her beer bottle held halfway up to her mouth. “What?”

“You’re really gonna make me beg?”

“Beg for what? I’m right here.”

Cid laughs softly, sitting back up and pushing his lit cigarette into the dirt. “I wanted to spend my last wakin’ hours on the planet with you, and you’re sittin’ five feet away from me. Don’t worry, Lottie, I ain’t gonna bite.” He grins, his smile fading slowly as he straightens up and tenses. “Unless I . . . read the signs wrong. In which case, please don’t tell your brother.”

A smile tugs at the corners of Charlie’s mouth. “Captain Cid Highwind is afraid of my little brother?”

He raises his eyebrows before giving her a rather incredulous look. “He’s unhinged, princess, and you know it.”

“Well, Rufus thinks you’re illiterate.”

Cid flushes handsomely, turning away from her as if he can’t bear the sight of her any longer. “You can tell your brother that I can read and write just fine.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“ _Good._ ”

“You gonna come closer now that we’ve established how I feel ‘bout you?”

Charlie frowns, but the smile still pulls at her lips. “ _Have_ you established how you feel about me?”

Cid waves a flippant hand at her, propping himself onto an elbow. Charlie mimics him, a healthy distance away. “I thought confessin’ I wanted to spend my last night here with you got my point across just fine, or are you just teasin’ me?”

“I’m not teasing you,” she says, inching closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. “You were flirting with that Turk.”

“Because I didn’t want your brother to cut my hands off if he thought I was flirtin’ with _you!_ ” he retorts angrily, looking highly affronted by this assumption. “Were you jealous or somethin’?”

“No,” she replies quickly. “Were you jealous of Reeve and me?”

Cid falters. “Why would I be jealous of you and Reeve?”

She huffs. “I don’t know. I didn’t know what to say.”

“Charlie, would you just c’mere for a damn minute, and don’t make me say it again?”

Grudgingly—nervously—Charlie moves even closer so they’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, their arms brushing. His body is tense again, and Charlie drinks from her bottle, looking up at the sky. It _is_ a rather beautiful place.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you,” she begins once more, squirming and tucking her legs beneath her. “I could never have done this without you, so . . . thank you, for everything.” She toasts him and he smiles, the tension easing in his shoulders. 

“I didn’t do it for your gratitude, princess,” he replies, suddenly a man at ease with all the world. It’s something she’s always admired about him, his casual confidence and easy smiles. “I did it because I believe in you and what you’re doin’ here. When you came to ask me ‘bout signin’ onto the project, I didn’t need to hear your little speech before I was convinced. But you were so passionate and so damned cute when you prattled on . . . I couldn’t bring myself to stop you.”

Charlie looks at him for a long time. At the time, upon recruiting Cid, she had been more concerned with his reputation as the finest pilot on the planet instead of worrying about whether or not he was good-looking. 

Even during construction of the _Highwind_ , Charlie had been so overwhelmed and eager to help that she hadn’t really had a chance to properly look at him. But now . . . with him so close to her, with the moonlight casting his face in an eerily beautiful light . . .

“You thought I was cute?”

“I said _damned_ cute.” Cid drinks. “What’s your deal with space exploration anyway?”

“I don’t know,” she answers, her words falling flat. She wishes she had something more interesting to say in front of him. “It’s just always been a dream of mine. I’ve always liked looking at the stars, and my mother encouraged it. She used to teach me all the pictures they made—the constellations.”

Cid chews on his lower lip, and he doesn’t have to say it for Charlie to know what he wants to ask. “Your mom still around?”

She laughs nervously. Sometimes it feels as if her mother is dead—neither Rufus nor her father speak of her, and it’s almost as if she never existed. The only memories Charlie has left of her are vague and half-forgotten. 

“She left when I was very young. She and my father didn’t get along, and I haven’t spoken to her since.” It’s a better answer than she would give most people.

“Were you close with her?”

“Yes, very much. I think, anyway,” she says, shaking her head. “Rufus was always favored by our father. I envied him for it, but Mother loved me most.”

Cid nods slowly, eyes traveling up and down her face, as if trying to determine the truth himself. “And she didn’t try to . . . take you with her when she left?”

“No, she did.”

Charlie remembers, even now. She dreams of it sometimes, when she drinks too much before going to sleep. She dreams of her mother, so beautiful and fair and weary, sobbing as Charlie stood beside her little brother, holding tight to his hand. 

They had watched their mother leave on the back of a Shinra truck with nothing but a small bag to take with her, filled with family jewelry and some gil. 

“But I knew that going with her would mean dreams left unfulfilled, and a life less . . . satisfactory than one with my father.”

Cid holds her gaze, picking up on her meaning. “A less extravagant life.”

Charlie shrugs, not going to look embarrassed about it. “I’m twenty-two-years-old, already graduated from the finest engineering program in the world. I’ve helped build a rocket ship. I couldn’t have done those things if I had gone with my mother.”

The way he looks at her makes her feel slightly ashamed, but she doesn’t quite know why. 

“Father told me that, if I went with her, I’d be living on the streets within a week. With Father, I had access to all of these opportunities . . . but I thought that following my dream was the least I could do for her, seeing as she was the only one who ever believed in me.” She smiles at Cid. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he grumbles.

“Why are _you_ so interested in space travel?”

“Dunno. Always wanted to be the first man to do _something_ , I guess.” Cid scoffs, watching Charlie pluck at the tiny fingerlings of green grass. 

“What about your family?”

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair, clearing his throat. His awkward and uncomfortable movements beside her cause Charlie to look up. “My old man died in the last war, in Wutai. And ma . . . she ain’t thrivin’, but she’s livin’. She’s been in Kalm since dad died.”

“Do you still speak to her?”

“Sometimes I send her letters.” Cid looks at her hard, as if seeing her for the first time, and then he half-scoffs and half-hisses through his teeth. “Ah, I dunno why I’m lyin’ to you. There’s no point.” Embarrassed, he grins shiftily, like a boy caught with his pants down. “I ain’t spoken to her since I agreed to help you with the rocket.”

Charlie almost gasps. “But why? Isn’t she proud of you?”

“Ma hates Shinra, especially since dad died fightin’ for ‘em,” Cid confesses, and Charlie cannot pretend the admission doesn’t hurt her. “She never got not reparations, no apologies, nothin’ . . . they sent him off and he died within two weeks.”

“Cid, I am _so_ sorry.” She sighs, and her voice is suddenly her President-Shinra’s-daughter’s-voice instead of a friendly and relaxed tone. “I swear to you, I will make sure your mother is taken care of when I return to Midgar.”

“That’s sweet of you, but . . . c’mon, can’t we talk ‘bout somethin’ else?”

Charlie doesn’t mind at all—the subject of families is a sore one for her, and she’s glad that conversation comes much more easily and naturally when they begin to discuss their rocket, and the _Tiny Bronco_ and the _Highwind_ and even Cid’s bike. 

The sound of laughter soon sends away the birds from the tops of trees, quiets the insects that chirp in the undergrowth. After a few minutes of this, Cid stops apologizing whenever his elbow bumps her gently and, once, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

It makes her smile, however awkwardly, and he places his hand in the grass behind her, his fingers occasionally brushing against the small of her back or up the lower half of her spine, something that gives her chills and sets goosebumps to rising all over her skin, distracted touches that make her skin crawl and her stomach churn. 

Cid has prepared for this, it seems. There’s more beer in the bag and he’s brought along a small flask of whiskey that they drink from almost secretively, as if they’re not old enough to do so. It’s not really the drink that makes her laugh so much, but more so the way he watches her closely, eyes always fixed on her mouth when she drinks. 

Eventually, he pulls out a small, wireless radio, and it takes him a moment to find a station that isn’t completely static. It’s heavy music at first, but after that, they play something lighter, and after _that_ , something with a lot of strings.

Conversation slows after they exhaust themselves of talk about the rocket. Cid lights another cigarette, sighing and lying back in the grass. Charlie looks down at his chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath. 

She wonders what it might feel like to listen to his heartbeat beneath her cheek. She wonders what it must feel like to have his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her there. Just once, she wants to know. 

Charlie moves slowly, expecting Cid to question her, to stop her, but he doesn’t. He only moves his arm to open his chest to her, as if he knows exactly what she’s going to do. 

She lays down beside him, places her cheek to his chest, feels the stubble of his beard scratch uncomfortably against the top of her head. His arm drapes lightly around her, an unsure touch. For a little bit, in the silence, she only listens to the drumbeat of his heart, throbbing painfully loud against his rib cage.

He’s nervous. 

“You have no idea how badly I wish I could go with you,” Charlie says again, softly. “I might never come back.”

These words seem to have the magic effect. His grip tightens around her, squeezing her gently. “You’re the only reason I _am_ gonna come back.”

Her heart stops. She reaches out with her free hand to rest it upon his stomach, splaying her fingers across his torso. 

Cid tosses his half-smoked cigarette away to reach for her hand. “Hey, Lottie?”

She hums, too afraid to speak and break whatever is happening between them. 

“You remember when we first met?”

“I remember,” she tells him with a small smile. “The day construction on the Highwind began, just outside of the hangar.”

He chortles, his laughter reverberating in his chest and vibrating against her cheek. “I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Even prettier than on TV.”

It’s no secret to Charlie, but she lets it be. She remembers every time she would look up to find his gaze lingering on her, a blush on his cheeks. She remembers Cid’s eyes always finding her first in a crowded room, remembers when he had pretended to be seeing someone in order to gauge her reaction. 

He was cute and handsome and a damn good pilot and even better-looking with his shirt off—something that always made her warm around the collar—but the same thought was always in the back of her mind, always the same lingering doubts.

_I am Charlotte Shinra,_ she would tell herself, _and Charlotte Shinra can’t pursue a relationship with a crass and uncouth pilot._

The radio crackles in the background, and Cid’s heart starts beating faster again. He squeezes her hand. “Do you want to dance?” she asks him, pushing herself up onto her elbow. Immediately, she misses the warmth of his body.

“Do I look like the kind of person that can dance?” Cid snorts, making her smile. “I ain’t tryin’ to break any of your toes, princess.”

“I’ll teach you,” she insists, their noses so close they’re almost touching. Briefly, the idea of moving closer flashes in her mind, wondering what it might feel like, just once, to feel such sweet-looking lips against her own. “What if you stumble upon some alien civilization and your survival depends on your ability to dance?”

“I’d rather die,” Cid says flatly, and there’s no doubt in Charlie’s mind that he means it. “You’re not gonna like, secretly record this if I agree, and then play it over every monitor in Shinra HQ when I’m in space, are you?”

Charlie grins, laughing throughout the night, her palm still on his chest, trapped beneath his hand. “Is that the kind of person you think I am?” she teases. “Careful now . . . you’re giving me ideas.”

Cid’s crooked smile doesn’t waver. “Me and my damn big mouth.”

“Stand up.” She jumps to her feet, escaping his hold reluctantly and holding out a hand to him. When he hesitates, in good nature, Charlie raises her eyebrows sternly. “I command it, as your direct superior.”

“Far be it from me to disobey a direct order . . .” He sits up, shrugging his jacket back onto his shoulders and zipping it right up to the very top, covering the small sliver of chest that was showing.

This is probably a good thing, eliminating any and all distractions that might make her feel . . . well, it’s not like it matters how she feels. After all, tomorrow, Cid will be launched into outer space and, if everything goes well, should be up there for about eight months. 

And within those eight months is plenty of time for Charlie to find someone a little more suitable to court her . . . someone with money, someone properly educated, someone who never had to fight alongside grunts in the military, someone with a well-to-do lifestyle, someone her father would approve of. 

_Someone like Reeve._

The idea does still excite her, truthfully, though perhaps not as much as it had when she was sixteen or seventeen. Years ago, all she ever wanted to do was be with him, and all she ever wanted from him was to be cared for. While she still feels like spending time with Reeve is the best part of her days, the idea of willingly pleasing her father with marriage makes her hesitant. 

“All right, princess,” Cid sighs, but he doesn’t seem angry with her, only exasperated in the best way. He stands closer to her, almost chest to chest, nearly a foot taller. “Show me how it’s done.”

“Like this,” she begins slowly, taking one of his hands and guiding it to her waist. She takes his other hand with her own and places her free hand on his shoulder. “And you lead. Can you lead, Captain?”

“Shit,” he groans, laughing a rasping and drunken sort of laughter. “Are you gonna laugh at me?”

“Never,” she promises, allowing him to take the lead. He dutifully avoids stepping on her toes, but after a few seconds, it’s revealed that he’s half-decent. “It’s not so hard, is it? Have you done this before?”

“Once,” he admits. “When I graduated from the academy, they hosted a . . . well, I guess it was kinda like a ball, but it was . . .” Cid clears his throat, puffing his chest out. “I didn’t _want_ to go—I couldn’t _not_ go—”

Charlie smiles up at him endearingly. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“‘Cause I got an image to maintain, damn you, so just forget I told you anythin’, all right?” He flushes deep red in the moonlight. “If anyone knew I had gone to a fuckin’ _ball_ —”

“Cid,” she starts, moving her hands to wrap them loosely around his neck. His free hand finds its way to the small of her back, pulling her close. “Are you worried about the way you present yourself to me?” When Cid looks away, she continues. “Hardly anyone knows me like you do. Do you think I’d take advantage of your . . . vulnerability?”

“No, no! I don’t think that!” he protests loudly, as if wanting to make sure his point gets across before there’s any question of his feelings. “Lottie, I . . . listen, I just . . . I know I ain’t ever gonna be one of them fancy men that probably try to make moves on you—”

“Make moves on me?” she repeats mockingly, her smile widening. “No one makes moves on me unless I want them to. Or rather, no one makes moves on me unless _Rufus_ allows them to.”

Cid pauses, narrowing his eyes and clenching his jaw real tight. A muscle jumps in his cheek. “What about right now, then?”

He inhales deeply, looking very much as if he’s just remembered who she really is. She’s seen him look like this often lately, usually when they’re sharing a drink or getting along especially well. She’s not fool enough to miss the slight glint of fear in his eyes, as if afraid Rufus will follow through with his promise of taking hands for someone touching Charlie. 

And she knows that, if Cid weren’t going to outer space tomorrow, he would likely keep his distance, likely push her away, because—despite everything—she’s still Charlotte Shinra, daughter of the most powerful man in the world. 

He moves his face closer, painfully slowly, and Charlie blushes. 

“Cid?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never—” she breathes, unable to remember the last time she’s ever felt so childish. “No one’s really ever—”

“No one’s ever kissed you before?”

Charlie shakes her head. It’s only half a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Good,” he rasps, so close that she can _taste_ him. “Then allow me to show you how it’s done.”

Dry lips touch her own, chapped and warm and fitted perfectly against her own. It’s soft at first, gentle and exploratory, slowly coercing her lips to part for him, to trust him and let him in. She makes a surprised little sound in the back of her throat when his arms snake around her waist, and something stirs deep within Charlie. 

Just the feeling of kissing him sends an electric shock down her spine. The feeling is so much more than she thought it would be, and though she’s never kissed him before, it seems uncannily natural. She’s hardly embarrassed, and she isn’t concerned that he may critique her performance. In fact, he responds with vigor, one of his hands moving up her back to tangle in the base of her hair. 

Charlie pulls away after the tip of his smoky tongue lightly traces her lower lip. The kiss has set her heart to throbbing with excitement and desire, and it takes an extraordinary amount of strength to bring herself to speak. “I should probably get back to Midgar soon before someone starts to wonder where I am,” she whispers, “and it’s a long trip.”

Cid hesitates, exhaling through his nose. “Sure. Can I . . . give you a lift in the _Tiny Bronco?_ We’ll have to make a couple stops, but . . .”

She lifts her head, smiling up at him. He doesn’t return her smile. Instead, there’s a somber look on his face. “I’d love that,” she answers.

The ride back to camp is quiet, save for the sound of the bike’s engine. It makes her feel guilty, knowing that she’s disappointed Cid, but what had he expected?

A romantic night between them wasn’t going to change anything. Did he really think she would promise to wait for him? Did he expect her to remain chaste, to think of him every minute of every day? Did he expect her to promise that with a few sweet kisses and well-placed touches? A hand down her pants or up her shirt, fondling her as if she wasn’t his superior? Fucking her beneath the stars like she’s some dirty, slum-dwelling slut?

It’s not as if Charlie doesn’t _want_ to be touched. Twenty-two years and never having a near stranger stuff their hand impatiently down her pants has made her crave it, the love and tenderness that she knows Cid would be willing to give, but the hand that touches her can’t be _anyone’s_ hand. It’s a terrible conclusion to come to, but it’s something that she’s accepted as a Shinra, no matter how annoying it makes things.

Charlie quickly collects her important things, paperwork and such, before boarding the _Tiny Bronco._ With hefty headphones over both of their ears, neither of them speak during the trip, and she gazes over the side of the plane, hardly able to see anything below her through the darkness. 

They have to make two stops, once on the northern continent just outside of Bone Village, where Cid refuels the biplane, and then again in Junon, where he’s able to fly straight to Midgar after refueling once more. It’s a terribly long process, but it drags out the time she’s able to spend in Cid, even if it is spent in silence. 

She guides him towards the landing strip at Headquarters once they finally reach the city, speaking again only when someone asks through the headphones who they think they are to fly in an unauthorized plane so close to the Shinra Building at such a ridiculous hour.

“It’s me, Charlotte Shinra, and Captain Cid Highwind. Requesting permission to land.”

“ _Yes, ma’am, sorry,_ ” says the man, suddenly much kinder. “ _Permission granted._ ”

The landing strip is lit with orange and red lighting, making it easier to see, even with the bright headlights of the _Tiny Bronco._ Cid lands it smoothly, as if it’s second nature to him (and she’s certain that it is). He even opens the door for her when the plane comes to a complete stop, helping her down like a perfect gentleman, but it’s awkward to say good-bye to him with a security guard watching them both like a hawk. 

They linger next to the _Tiny Bronco_. Cid’s hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, and Charlie’s arms are wrapped around herself as the wind whips at her hair, so far up above the city. 

“The guard will help you refuel, if you’d like. And, well . . . I guess I’ll . . . see you tomorrow morning,” she says, wanting to reach out for his hand, to squeeze it, to let him know she won’t forget about him when he’s in space.

“Sure.”

“I had a good time tonight,” she says again, hoping he’ll at least smile at her. “I’m glad that I stayed.”

Cid nods shortly. “See you tomorrow, Charlie.” He glances over his shoulder at the guard and clears his throat, giving her a mocking bow that makes her heart sink. “Miss Shinra.”

By the time Charlie is safely back in her own apartment, flipping the lights on to illuminate the beautiful (but quite empty and lonely) apartment, she’s not even a little bit tired. Her nerves are still jangling from the closeness she had shared with Cid tonight, and all she can think about is watching her rocket launch into space tomorrow morning. All she wants to do is talk about it, and she wishes she and Cid had kept their conversation strictly professional.

Perhaps the night would have ended on a happier note that way.

Charlie settles onto her sofa, looking at the blank screen of her television, able to see her own disheveled reflection. Tomorrow morning, her rocket launch is going to be broadcasted all over the planet, in nearly every household. Soon, her name will be known just as well as her father’s, just as well as Cid’s. 

People will be talking about the Shinra Electric Power Company for years and years to come now, about where they were the day their rocket launched and how it had repaired their broken trust in the company after all that’s happened recently with Avalanche, after everything they did to try and destroy the company . . . to kill her father . . .

Charlie pulls her phone out of her pocket, looking down at the time. It’s far too late to take Reeve up on his offer of dinner and a show, but the loneliness has begun to settle again, and she wants company more than anything.

She dials Rufus’s number from memory and holds it up to her ear, listening to it ring and ring and ring while looking around at all the boxes that still need unpacked. 

“ _Leave a message at the beep,_ ” the automated voice says, and Charlie heaves a deep sigh.

After the beep, she sighs again, just so Rufus can hear it. “Hey, it’s me. You’re probably sleeping, but . . . thank you for coming today. It really meant a lot to me, even if you don’t think it’s very exciting. I just have a _really_ good feeling about tomorrow, and I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep. I wish you were here.” She pauses, scratching at the cushion of the white leather sofa. “So I guess I’ll, um . . . just let you go. Call me first thing in the morning, if you can. I kind of wanted to talk to you about something anyway, and . . . well, I’ll tell you when I see you—”

“ _Your message has exceeded the allotted time. To leave another message, please hang up and try again. To delete your message and try again, press two._ ”

The line goes dead and Charlie bites down on her lower lip. “And I love you,” she finishes quietly, hanging up the call. Thinking for a moment, she calls Reeve next. His voice goes to voicemail, as well, as he’s likely fast asleep, heavy sleeper that he is. “Hey, Reeve, it’s me. I just got home, and . . . I’m really sorry I couldn’t go out with you tonight, but I thought tomorrow, after the launch, we could celebrate. I’ll even cook you dinner if you’d like to come over and maybe help me unpack, but if you don’t, I won’t blame you.”

She runs a hand through her hair, knowing she’s running out of time.

“Damn it, Reeve, I wish you had answered. I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully. And sorry again about tonight. Bye.”

Charlie sinks lower into the sofa, tossing her phone aside and turning the television on. The news anchor is covering a story on the newest reactor in development, though it’s mostly false. She hears the truth of it straight from Reeve, who knows better than anyone about the reactors. Half-listening, she continues to check her phone every few minutes, checking the time or checking for a missed call. 

Every passing minute, she slips deeper into the sofa. Charlie checks her phone once more, standing up to stretch and turn the television off before heading back to bed, but she hesitates. 

Cid should be back at base camp by now. By her watch, he should have arrived nearly thirty minutes ago, plenty of time to settle back into his tent and prepare for his last sleep on the planet for months to come. Charlie wonders if he’s even thinking about her anymore, or if it’s Freyra on his mind, someone who showed genuine interest and didn’t back away when things got a little too intense.

Charlie dials his number slowly. The phone rings once, twice . . .

“ _‘Lo?_ ”

“Hey,” she says softly, smiling like a fool, relieved beyond anything that he’s answered after her cold and abrupt departure. “You made it back.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Cid answers in a low voice, sounding tired. “ _Miss me already?_ ”

Sitting back down on the sofa, she gets more comfortable. “Yeah,” she replies. “I do.”

“ _As it happens, I was just thinkin’ ‘bout you._ ”

“Oh yeah?”

“ _Yeah. Thinkin’ ‘bout how I should’a turned right around and went back for you._ ”

“Why didn’t you?”

“ _‘Cause I’m a damn fool, Lottie._ ”

“What will you do in space without me?”

“ _Cry, maybe_ ,” Cid chuckles, a low rumble over the phone that sets her heart to fluttering madly again. “ _I’m sure I’ll be able to think of a few things. What will_ you _do down here without me?_ ”

Charlie pulls her knees to her chest. “Cry, maybe.”

“ _Rumor has it that you’ve never cried before._ ”

She finds that words come easier to her while he’s not looking into her face. “For you, I might make an exception.”

“ _How ‘bout that,_ ” he laughs.

Charlie shakes her head, repeating in little more than a whisper, “How about that.”


	4. Chapter 4

part iv: _the launch_

* * *

_Click!_

“That’s great—really excellent! Could we have one more of you and the captain? It’ll make for a great front page picture!”

Charlie flashes her bright smile at the camera, content with Cid’s arm around her waist as the flashes of the surrounding cameras nearly blind them, all of them employed by Shinra, all of them clicking clicking clicking.

“I hate this stupid shit,” Cid mumbles through gritted teeth, a forced smile on his face that makes him look like he’s in pain. “Can’t you tell ‘em to stop, Lottie? They got enough pictures of us, don’t they?”

Instinctively, if not to humor him, she raises a hand, still smiling. “All right,” she says loudly, and the flashes cease immediately. “Captain Highwind and I have some last minute work to do. Thank you.”

Charlie pulls Cid away from the photographers, her legs taking them left and right and left and straight and right, bringing the two of them deeper into the maze of tents that still have yet to be packed up. She squeezes Cid’s hand as she pulls him along, looking up at the rocket that holds the promise of a better life for Charlie within her father’s company. 

“Y’know, Lottie,” Cid says with a nervous laugh, his eyes passing over the rocket, as well. “It makes my spine tingle when you boss people ‘round like that.”

“Is that you inviting me to boss you around?” Charlie looks over her shoulder with her eyebrows raised, dropping his hand. “I could do so right now, if it pleases you.”

His cheeks turn bright red, a panicky look on his normally smug face. “I didn’t mean right now! _Fuck_ , you’re somethin’ else. I’m not gonna wanna leave if you keep teasin’ me.” When Charlie foolishly continues to raise her eyebrows at him, seeking an explanation, he adds, “I ain’t spellin’ it out for you, and anyway . . . I was only jokin’.”

“Stop blushing, Cid, you’re embarrassing yourself.” She smiles reassuringly at him as he falls back into step beside her. “I thought the ceremony went very well, don’t you? The fireworks were absolutely _beautiful_ , and the airshow was better than ever.”

He grunts in response, his pride still damaged. “I’m just happy no one tried to steal my baby again. I ain’t in a merciful mood today.” He sighs, looking up at the clear sky and nodding slightly. “Doesn’t it bother you that your dad was tryin’ to take all the credit for the launch? All that stuff he said durin’ his speech . . . it pisses me off. Aren’t you pissed off, too?”

“No,” Charlie lies. It _did_ bother her, but she had never expected her father to step back and allow her to bask in Shinra’s victory. Besides, it will all become clear when questions are posed to President Shinra about the rocket, and his lack of knowledge and understanding of the task will surely be his downfall with reporters. 

But with Shinra owning many of the newspapers and television studios, it’s likely his looking like a buffoon would never be seen or read by the public eye. 

“This department has been funded ever since I was a girl. I only asked for more funding and hired the best pilot on the planet to be my number two.”

“Don’t be so humble,” Cid says, waving an impatient hand at her. “You did tons of work on that rocket, too. Plus, you made sure everyone was paid on time, and that counts for somethin’ among us dirty mechanics.”

Charlie stops just outside of her tent, lingering when she realizes Cid is in not hurry to go away. She looks down at her watch and her stomach tightens with excitement. “Three hours until launch. I want you in the rocket at least an hour and a half before. We need to test our communications system one last time.”

He grins impishly. “Is that an order?” he asks in a hushed voice so no one can overhear. “ _Miss Shinra?_ ”

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Captain.”

Cid exhales loudly, seemingly thrilled that she’s chosen to play along. “Yes, ma’am.” He hesitates, suddenly very unsure of himself. “I’ll come find you before the launch. I’ll make sure I get to say a real good-bye.”

She smiles sadly at him. “I’d like that.”

Charlie watches him strut away, cool as can be, before entering her tent and starting violently upon realizing someone is already inside. 

Immediately, she stiffens to attention, while President Shinra flips through some paperwork on her desk, seated in the camp chair that’s two sizes too small for his wide bottom. The smell of his cigar smoke floats sickeningly in the humid air, making her head ache. She should be used to it by now, but perhaps the association of cigar smoke with her father is what makes her so ill. 

“Father,” Charlie says, and he looks up as if just now noticing her standing there. Completely unabashed, her father leans back in her chair and stops fiddling with her things, resting one hand on his fat stomach while the other holds his cigar between two fat fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were in here.”

President Shinra’s eyes flick up and down her once, and his look is not one of joy or elation. It is one of complete disdain and disappointment, and it makes Charlie’s breath hitch. He scrunches his nose, moving his jaw so his burly walrus mustache moves from side to side. 

“I confess, you have adjusted far better to this position as department head than I expected.”

“Thank you, daddy.”

“It seems you are held in very high esteem by your crew,” he continues, glancing momentarily towards the entrance of her tent with a look of disgust. “None more so than your captain.”

“Father, he’s only excited. He’s just being friendly—”

“I will not have that boy forgetting himself in the presence of a Shinra. You are my daughter, and should be treated as such,” President Shinra snaps, his voice deadly calm and somehow louder than the rocket, ringing in her ears. “Regardless, your ability to increase morale and inspire others below you speaks for itself. If you were willing to forget about your pipe dream about being some dirty engineer, and if you were willing to focus more of your talents on the company’s inner workings, I might have made you my vice president instead of your brother.”

The thought excites her, but her father will not want to hear her sounding greedy for Rufus’s position. Instead, Charlie lowers her head respectfully and holds her hands in front of her. “Rufus is a wonderful vice president, and will make a wonderful president after you one day, Father.”

President Shinra snorts, surprising her. “People will never love or respect Rufus as they do you. It doesn’t matter to him . . . he doesn’t want their love or respect, and he’s never cared about those things.” He gets to his feet, pushing himself awkwardly out of the chair as it groans beneath him, threatening to collapse. “But that isn’t why I chose him to be my vice president. Do you know why I did?”

“No, Father.”

“I chose him because he’s willing to make the hard choices, willing to be cold-hearted when he needs to be.” He takes a step closer to Charlie, the stink of his cigar all over him, clinging to his clothes. She turns her face slightly to try and keep the smoke from stinging her eyes. “Tell me, girl . . . when the time comes and you are forced to sacrifice one of your crew members to save the launch, what will you do?”

Charlie falters, clearing her throat. The question is posed too much like an accusation, and it doesn’t sit well with her. “My crew understands the risks, and—”

“And what about the boy?” her father asks, looking ready to spit on the ground to show what he thinks of Cid. “He’s willing to die for you, but are you willing to let him? When something happens and the pilot needs to be sacrificed in order for the launch to continue, what will you do?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and that’s all the answer President Shinra needs. He pushes past her, shouldering her hard on the way out, hesitating at the entrance to turn around and face her, cigar in between his lips. 

“That’s why you will never be vice president. That’s why you will never be president after me.” He coughs suddenly, deep from his chest. “Having people love you is nice and romantic and sentimental, but it’s impractical. You can’t govern and control your subjects without bias if you _care_ about their feelings towards you.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Well, you’ve always got your department, haven’t you?” President Shinra laughs. It’s a booming laugh that mocks her empty and hopeless dreams, because her father _never_ laughs. “That is, if you don’t mess this up.” Before he leaves the tent, he stops one more time. “The world is watching today, Char. Shinra’s reputation rests in your hands today. There will be consequences if you fail.”

Charlie nods again. “Yes, sir.”

With her father gone, Charlie ties the entrance flaps open to air out the tent of cigar smoke, sitting back in her chair. The pressure of getting the launch right the first time around sits heavy on her shoulders, making her wish for a distraction. She wishes Reeve were here to keep her company, to reassure her that the day won’t be a disaster, that her rocket was designed to succeed from the very beginning.

But Reeve had three back-to-back meetings today. He had said as much when he called first thing in the morning to apologize, and those three meetings couldn’t be rescheduled or postponed or canceled again. He would watch the launch on the television, he told her, and would call again later to offer his enthusiastic congratulations. 

Charlie had been disappointed, and she’s certain that Reeve could tell over the phone, but she hadn’t protested. If he said he had meetings, she’s sure he was telling the truth. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have missed the launch for the world . . . would he . . . ?

“Um . . . excuse me . . . ? Miss Shinra?”

Charlie lifts her eyes to the entrance, pinching the bridge of her nose as Shera walks inside. Clad in her lab coat, always in her lab coat, and with her brown hair tied back in a ponytail, it only serves to make her baby face look rounder. “What?” she hisses. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

“Well, it’s just . . . it’s about the oxygen tank . . . the tests that were run. I didn’t think the results were completely satisfactory.” Shera rocks nervously back and forth on her feet. 

“Satisfactory in what way? Because I’ve had about twenty other good men tell me they were perfectly satisfactory to continue with the launch today. Were they lying to me?” Charlie continues, shuffling her papers and standing up, glancing quickly at Shera. Shera blushes, adjusting her glasses. “If you’re so unsatisfied by my rocket, why don’t you go and build your own?”

“Forgive me, I just . . . I’m worried that the oxygen tank that was replaced is liable to explode during orbit,” Shera plunges on recklessly. “If the tank explodes, the crew would lose all of their oxygen without anything to replace it with, and—”

“I know how an oxygen tank works,” Charlie snaps. “So you _are_ telling me that all my other crew members were lying to me?” She grows frustrated, especially after the encounter with her father. “You’re telling me that you’re the _only one_ who noticed the test results were unsatisfactory?”

“N—no, Miss Shinra, please.” Shera clasps her hands together. “I’m only saying that, perhaps in the midst of things, perhaps in the excitement of things, something could have been overlooked, and . . . and . . .”

“Shera,” Charlie says through clenched teeth, rubbing her temples furiously. “If you’re so damned concerned about the oxygen tank, then go fix it, run another test, and don’t bother me again.” But Shera lingers, perhaps recognizing that Charlie isn’t done. “My entire reputation depends on this launch, my entire _future._ If you mess this up—”

“I won’t, I—”

“ _Don’t_ interrupt me.” Charlie waves a hand at her. “Go.”

Charlie gives Shera a head start before heading out of the tent entrance herself, looking around. The size of base camp has been halved; most of the crew were able to be gone by this morning, leaving only a skeleton crew to handle the launch at base. 

She continues down the rows of tents still pitched, some in the process of being emptied and stripped down and loaded onto the backs of chocobos and into the beds of humming trucks by burly men. 

“Miss Shinra!”

Charlie stops and turns at the sound of the voice. An older gentleman near her father’s age hustles to her side, a clipboard in his hand and ink all over the bulbous tip of his nose. “Gage,” she smiles. “I was just going to look for you. Walk with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gage scurries to keep pace with her, slightly hunch-backed. “I hate to bother you so close to launch, but have you seen the captain around?”

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. I just saw him not long ago.” Charlie’s eyes scan the perimeter, but she shrugs. “Do you know Shera?”

Gage chuckles very softly.

“What?” Charlie demands, turning to him with a cocked eyebrow. “Why are you laughing?”

He has the grace to blush, avoiding her eyes. “My apologies, Miss Shinra. It’s nothing. Shera is overexcited and afraid of the captain, I think. Though it doesn’t seem to deter her from being sweet on him.”

Side-eyeing him, Charlie hums. “She just told me something funny,” she continues, shaking her head and sighing. “She told me the tests run for our replacement oxygen tank weren’t satisfactory. I think she mentioned something about it blowing up in orbit.”

“Like I said . . . overexcited,” Gage repeats, wringing his hands together nervously in front of him, his clipboard tucked under his arm. “I’m confident in the launch today. We’ve all worked too hard to see it fail because of an oxygen tank. The girl is just anxious. Please forgive her, Miss Shinra. I’ll speak with her.”

“Regardless, send a few technicians to check on her. Knowing Shera, it won’t be done until nightfall.” She checks her watch again. “And I want her out of there in thirty minutes, no more. I’m not taking any chances today, especially not with her.”

“Yes, ma’am, right away. If you see Captain Highwind, please tell him I’m looking for him. It’s rather urgent.”

“Of course.” As Gage turns to leave, Charlie calls his name. “Have you looked in the rocket? For Cid?”

“That was the first place I checked, ma’am.”

“Oh.” This strikes Charlie as odd—this is Cid’s big day, and it seems very unlike him to disappear from camp so close to launch. “I’ll look around for him. I’m not really doing anything important at the moment.”

“That would be greatly appreciated, Miss Shinra.”

Charlie begins her search by attempting to call him, but there’s no answer. Without a hot lead, she tries the empty chocobo pen. 

The handler explains most are being used, while the others were taken back to the farm last night. She shrugs her shoulders, looking apologetic underneath her trademark floppy hat. “The last time I saw the captain, he was talking to you. Sorry, ma’am. I hope he’s all right.”

Behind a tent that’s half-dismantled, Charlie finds a group of mechanics smoking cigarettes and laughing quietly together. They immediately stomp their cigarettes out and straighten up upon seeing her approach.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” she smiles, and one of the men reaches down to pick up the butt of his half-smoked cigarette, blowing the dirt off it. “I’m only looking for Cid. Have any of you seen him?”

“No, ma’am. Haven’t seen him since this morning,” one of them answers, his face so blackened that she barely recognizes him. “He might be taking his stuff back, packing it up. He might drive up the road any minute now.”

“All right. Please, carry on.”

But after about ten or fifteen minutes of waiting, she grows impatient. And besides, she doesn’t think it likely that Cid would have packed up his own things, so eager to get going into outer space. Someone else would have probably done that for him. 

Charlie looks down at her watch. She doesn’t dare ask any of the press members if they’ve seen him, not wanting to reveal that she’s lost the astronaut she’d been intending to send into space. But a truck does come driving back, carrying a few engineers who are to be sent home after the launch. She runs up to them, desperate.

“Hey, Miss Shinra. You look a little lost,” Jade laughs, her inky black hair pulled up into a tight bun on the top of her head. 

“I’m looking for Cid. I can’t find him anywhere.”

Jade looks around the camp, squinting in the bright sunlight. “Last I saw, he was heading off into the woods. I thought he had to take a piss or something, but that was about a half hour ago. Pardon my language, ma’am.”

“He went into the woods? Where?” Charlie turns to look at the place that Jade points out. “You haven’t seen him return yet?”

“No,” Jade confesses. “But I did see someone else running after him, all in a hurry, it seemed like. A girl.”

“A girl?” Charlie narrows her eyes, frowning. For a moment, she imagines Shera running after him, but no doubt she’s still in the rocket doing whatever repairs or tests she deems necessary. “What girl?”

“I don’t know her name. I never seen her before,” Jade continues. “Only saw her from the back. Kinda looked like you, ma’am, except her hair was—” She makes a strange gesture up towards her head—“bigger. And she was wearing it in a ponytail.”

“Forgive my interruption, ma’am, but I think it was that Turk,” the man in the passenger seat says, leaning over Jade’s lap to speak to Charlie. “The one that was here yesterday with your brother.”

“Freyra?”

“Dunno, never caught her name,” the man replies, leaning back in his seat. “She had a shotgun on her hips, though. I saw that bit of her.”

Jade’s eyebrows furrow together with worry. “The Captain is all right, isn’t he?” she asks.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Charlie slaps the truck door reassuringly with a smile. “Make sure to keep an eye on your mail when you return. You should see your last pay coming soon.”

Both Jade and the man nod, answering at the same time. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s been an honor.”

Stalking away, Charlie feels anger bubbling up in her stomach, and it puts up a valiant fight against her nerves. She glances up at the rocket, holding her breath, looking it up and down. Several mechanics consult with engineers on the platform high above, talking while checking things off on a clipboard. 

Part of her wants to run after Cid into the woods, chastise him, remind him what’s at stake and how he should know better than to abandon his post to close to launch. But she also knows that she likely wouldn’t stand a chance against any monsters if they were to get too close. She would be struck down before she could even find Cid.

She finds Roderick sitting in his tent a little ways away from the launch pad and rocket. He’s alone, save for her now, fiddling with the communications device and preparing it for launch. Upon her entrance, he glances around and nods as she takes a seat beside him.

“Testing, testing . . . base camp communications to HQ . . . this is Roderick, do you copy?”

He’s quiet for another moment, listening hard, his forehead creased in concentration. 

“Changing to private channel . . . testing, testing . . . base camp to HQ . . . do you copy?”

Another silence as he listens to the headphones around his ears. He seems happy enough, pressing another button on the console.

“Begin clearing the rocket. I repeat, all last minute operations should be coming to a close and all crew must exit the rocket to prepare for launch.” Afterwards, Roderick removes his headphones, grinning at her. “Everything is almost ready for you, ma’am.”

“I’m missing my pilot, she grumbles. This seems to come as a great surprise to him. “Leave it to Cid to run off with a girl right before launch.”

“The captain? Running off with a girl? That doesn’t sound like him at all, ma’am, no offense.”

Charlie sighs, getting to her feet. “I’m going to take one more look around camp. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

She circles camp twice, even stopping for a few last minute pictures for the press. Without Cid, there is no smile on her face this time, only the face of Charlotte Shinra, daughter of President Shinra, Director of the Space Exploration Department.

When she eventually makes her way back to the rocket, she’s in half a mind to go inside and make sure Shera has evacuated. When she takes the first step onto the rickety scaffolding that leads upwards, someone shouts her name, running out from the surrounding woods.

“Lottie!”

She turns sharply to find Cid sprinting towards her, his spear held tight in his hand. There’s sweat glimmering on his forehead and a cut on his left cheek that’s dripping blood. Behind him, a few steps back, is Freyra, catching up quickly. They both stop short a few yards from Charlie, looking apologetic. 

“Where the _hell_ have you _been_?” Charlie demands of him, her face hardening, taking care to only look Cid in the face. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, only to find out that you’ve gone off with some _girl_ right before you’re supposed to be launched into space! Do I need to find a new astronaut in the next thirty minutes?”

Cid’s face falls, and he blinks at her in surprise. He looks over his shoulder at Freyra, whose eyes seem very interested in her feet. “Lottie, it ain’t like that—”

“I don’t care what it’s like,” Charlie cuts him off, not wanting any of his explanations. “You have a reputation to maintain now, Captain. If you ever pull something like this again, I _will_ have you dismissed immediately.” She pauses, crossing her arms over her chest. “As it happens, you’re currently the only trained man available for the job, so get in the goddamn rocket and prepare to launch.”

He blushes fiercely, taking a step closer to Charlie and leaning on his spear. While his smile is something nervous, his body is still relaxed, as if he knows Charlie is only pretending to be angry. But this time, he’s wrong. “Charlie—”

“I can’t have you getting distracted so close to launch,” she hisses at him. “Say your tearful good-byes and get on with it.”

Cid hesitates, but clears his throat and turns around to face Freyra. She forces herself to look up, eyes finding Charlie before Cid. “Thanks, kid. Maybe I’ll see you ‘round after I get back. I can tell you all about space.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Freyra replies sweetly. “Good luck, Captain. Good luck, Miss Shinra. I hope everything goes well.”

When Freyra leaves them, Charlie exhales steadily. Cid has the grace to look ashamed, his shoulders slumping and his head hanging like some beaten and half-drowned pup. “I really do like it when you get all bossy like that, Lottie,” he admits, and it almost makes her smile. 

“I told you I wanted you back and in the rocket an hour and a half before launch,” she reminds him. “And you are _very_ late, Captain.”

“I got a good reason, Lottie, just listen,” Cid pleads, lowering his spear to the grass and reaching out to touch the sides of her arms. Charlie flinches, but doesn’t protest or pull away. 

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Charlie tells him coldly. “You and that Turk go off in the woods together and come back out a little while later. You think I don’t understand?”

To her displeasure, Cid laughs incredulously. “That’s what you think? Really?” he snorts, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Charlie, we didn’t go into the woods together. I was chasin’ some assholes away from our rocket and she followed me and brought me back.” He touches his bleeding cheek, swiping at the blood with his sleeve. “That’s why I’m bleedin’, not that it matters much to you.”

“You shouldn’t be getting yourself so distracted.” Charlie shakes his hands off her. “The world is watching now. You should get up into the cockpit and prepare yourself.”

She makes to leave, but Cid catches her wrist, anger flashing in his eyes. “Hang on. I ain’t gettin’ in that rocket without sayin’ a proper good-bye to you.”

“You’ve just said it.”

“I said, hang on!” Cid says again, grabbing her roughly by the upper arms. “Just shut your damn mouth for a minute, all right!”

Charlie’s jaw clenches. “ _Excuse_ me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He releases her arms to dig around in his pockets, finally extracting something from the back one. “I was gonna bring this with me, to look at when I got lonely, but I thought I might give it to you instead.” He holds out a picture for her, and Charlie hesitates before reaching for it. “I even autographed it and everythin’ . . . you know, in case you fall on hard times or somethin’ and need to make some quick money.”

She eyes him up for a moment, looking down and flipping over the picture. In his messy handwriting, there’s a short inscription on the back. 

_Lottie,_

_To the moon and back_

Her heart skips a beat in her chest. On the opposite side, the picture is quite nice. Taken the day that they had both first arrived at base camp to begin the building of the Shinra No. 26. The both of them are smiling, Cid with a cigarette and Charlie with a thermos of coffee, despite how warm it had been that day. 

The summer construction began had been hot, so hot that layers of clothing were always being shed. The heat had gifted her with numerous sights of Cid’s muscled arms, his forearms deeply tanned and his biceps always whiter than the other parts of his exposed body.

Sometimes he would sweat so much that his white undershirt would stick to his skin and show nearly every outline of muscle and bone in his torso. Other days he would work shirtless on the _Tiny Bronco_ , and she had been careful to sneak a few glances at the coarse yellow hair on his chest, the few violent scars on his stomach as if he had been stabbed or shot in the past, sweat running down him in rivulets. 

Cid had caught her several times looking at him, admiring the shape of his body, the bulk of his muscles, the yellow sheen of his hair. 

She wishes things could be like that now. She wishes the stakes weren’t so high, wishes that so much wasn’t riding on this launch, wishes that Shera hadn’t planted seeds of doubt into her mind by complaining about the oxygen tank.

“Are you sure you don’t want to bring this with you?” Charlie asks, suddenly feeling much softer towards Cid, whose shit-eating grin curbs much of her anger.

“Don’t worry. I got others. I won’t be forgettin’ what you look like anytime soon.” He shifts awkwardly on his feet, always uncomfortable standing still for too long. “Lottie, I wanna thank you again. It’s ‘cause of you that I get to do this . . . that I get to live out my dream. I know I could never repay you, but when I get back, I’ll do what I can.”

For a brief moment, Charlie recalls another boy who had promised her something similar, only to be sent off to war and never return. She pushes the thought to the back of her mind. “ _We_ did this,” she insists, very seriously. “This was _our_ dream.”

Cid smiles weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, Charlie . . .” Her ears perk up at the sound of her actual name being spoken so tenderly. “If somethin’ happens to me up there, or . . . if I don’t come back . . . just promise that you’ll think of me.”

She swallows hard. The thought of him being swallowed up by the stars is a frightening thought, if not a very fitting death for him. She reaches up to wipe away the blood on his cheek, smearing it against his rough skin before he laughs and uses his sleeve again. 

“I promise, I’ll think about you from the moment the rocket leaves the ground.”

This makes Cid smile even wider. He fidgets anxiously, and then leans in before Charlie can say anything, pressing his lips to her cheek. He waits with bated breath for her reaction, but there hardly is one. “Sorry,” he croaks, out of breath. “Last chance to stow away on the rocket.”

“Good luck, Captain,” she breathes, suddenly very aware of the crew’s eyes on them.

But his lips, even just against her cheek, have left her breathless. The closeness of the launch unnerves her. It’s the last time she’s going to see him for months, and she can’t even find the courage to kiss him on the mouth, or to hug him, or even touch him.

“And you, Miss Shinra.”

She watches him climb the many ladders towards the top of the rocket, and then she turns to make for the communications tent. Roderick is standing, allowing Charlie the chair that gives her complete access to the visuals on the screen. With her chest heaving, she sits and places the headset over her ears, adjusting the mouthpiece closer to her lips.

“ _Lottie? Can you hear me?_ ”

Charlie presses the small, green button to speak back. “I can hear you, as well as all of our crew back at the control room at Headquarters,” she smiles, watching Roderick adjust the volume. “So watch your mouth. How are we looking, Captain?”

“ _Instrument panel all clear,_ ” Cid confirms, his voice excited. “ _Shinra No. 26 is ready for launch._ ”

Her heart pounds painfully against her check as the seconds slip by. By thirty minutes, she could throw up. By fifteen minutes, her stomach is in knots. By ten minutes, sweat drips down the back of her neck, all while the clock continues to count down. 

“Are we ready?” she asks everyone at large. Roderick grins from beside her, his own headset on, and several crew members silently cheer. “Start automatic ground launch sequencer. Nine minutes and counting until launch.”

“ _Starting automatic ground launch sequencer_ ,” comes another voice, confirming her orders. 

Charlie’s hands are shaking as the timer continues to run. Everything is going according to plan, but the excitement makes her ill. After months of planning and preparation and building and rehearsing, the day is finally here . . . it’s because of _her_ that the Shinra Electric Power Company will soon be occupying space.

Eight minutes and counting.

People will be talking of this day for years to come. When space travel is discussed in the future, it won’t be talked about without Charlie’s name cropping up. Without her, this wouldn’t be happening at all. She had worked so hard to secure better funding, had opened the department up to donations, had put hundreds of hours into fundraising events, had assembled a crew, had chosen a competent pilot, had helped draw and design the newest, and only successful, rocket. 

Seven minutes and counting.

Her father had thought it all a pipe dream. He had only put her in charge because he knew she would be happy with a failing department. He hadn’t any faith in the department at all, but now . . .

Six minutes and counting.

“Doing all right in there, Captain?”

“ _Never been better in my whole life. You?_ ”

She chuckles. “Better than I’ve ever been in my life. You’ll bring me back a souvenir, won’t you?”

“ _It’s like you don’t even know me._ ”

Five minutes and counting.

“ _Lottie, it’s just me now,_ ” comes Cid’s voice through the private channel. “ _Listen, I gotta tell you somethin’._ ”

Charlie presses the button Roderick showed her to communicate privately. “Is everything all right?” she asks, concerned. 

Four minutes and counting.

“ _I just told you, I’m great, I’m fine . . . more than fine . . . I’m fuckin’ fantastic . . . that’s why I gotta tell you this right now before it’s too late, in case I don’t come back._ ” There’s a beat that makes her nervous, the anticipation killing her. “ _I love you, Lottie._ ”

Charlie stills. Even her sweaty, trembling hands freeze up. “What?”

“ _You don’t gotta say anythin’ . . . I just . . . had to tell you._ ”

It’s hard to breathe after such a confession. She glances sideways at Roderick, who doesn’t seem to notice a thing. “To the moon and back, Cid,” she whispers into the microphone. 

He laughs, a low rumble. “ _To the moon and back, kid. I’ll see you soon, yeah? In a few months?_ ”

“Yeah.” Charlie sees Roderick attempting to stifle his smile, catching her eye and blushing. “Shut up,” she murmurs, making him smile in earnest. She fixes her eyes on the screen again. “Engine pressure rising. Three minutes to launch. Beginning countdown.”

“ _Oh, shit_ — _Charlie, we’ve got a problem,_ ” Cid says quickly. His voice frightens her, equal parts fury and desperation. 

Charlie and Roderick share a long look. “What’s going on?”

“ _There’s a . . . fuck, there’s a mechanic still in the engine section of the rocket._ ”

She runs a hand through her hair, sighing. “Shera,” she mutters, swearing under her breath. “Have the crew turn on the intercom, Cid. Tell her to get out of there immediately. She’ll be killed once we start the rocket.”

She’s only able to hear one side of the conversation, which mostly consists of Cid yelling at Shera, who’s still running tests on the oxygen tank. He urges Shera to leave, telling her exactly what Charlie had told him. 

She wipes her clammy palms on her pants, biting down on her lower lip. If only Reeve were here . . . he could talk her through this . . . he would know what to do . . . he _always_ knows what to do . . .

Charlie presses on, but there’s a queer feeling in her stomach, or maybe it’s her heart beginning to crack. “Starting engine.”

“ _Charlie, wait! Shera’s still in there!_ ”

“If we don’t start the engine now, the launch will never happen and you _know_ that,” she counters. “Thirty seconds until ignition—”

“ _Charlie, stop, c’mon! Wait a minute!_ ” Cid groans in frustration. “ _Goddamnit, Shera! You wanna make me a murderer?_ ”

“I told her to get out before the launch,” Charlie protests, rubbing her face. The panic is evident in Cid’s voice now, the confusion and fear. “Cid, we _have_ to continue. You’ll never see outer space if you stop now. Thirty seconds until ignition. Beginning countdown.”

“ _Charlie, please,_ ” he begs her, voice coming over the private channel. His voice cracks, much higher than usual. “ _Please, Charlie, don’t do this . . . don’t make me . . . Shera’s gonna die in there if we go through with this_ —”

“This is our dream, Cid . . . our _dream_.” She watches the timer tick from thirty seconds to twenty. Tears well up in her eyes, unbidden. She has not worked tirelessly for the past year only for her launch to be sabotaged in the last twenty seconds. “Please, Cid, you must continue. Shera knows the risks—”

“ _Lottie, please don’t make me a murderer,_ ” Cid replies, sounding as heartbroken as she feels. “ _I told you I’d be willin’ to die for this, and I am, but Shera . . . Shera don’t need to die for this, Charlie . . . please . . ._ ”

Fifteen seconds.

_. . . when the time comes, and you are forced to sacrifice one of your crew members to save the launch, what will you do?_

A presidential decision. _This is my legacy,_ she thinks.

“Miss Shinra,” Roderick says, sweating profusely, looking at her with wide eyes. “Your orders, ma’am?”

Charlie closes her eyes, feeling as if time has stopped. Had her father known something was going to go wrong? What if all of this is just some kind of test to see if she has what it takes to be president one day? Is it a test, or just a freak coincidence?

Regardless, Charlie knows what her father would do in this position, knows what Rufus would do. Even Reeve . . .

“We’re proceeding as planned,” she says as the timer hits ten seconds. She presses the green button to speak with the rest of her crew again. “Captain, we’re continuing. I’m sorry, but—”

“ _You’re gonna kill Shera?_ ”

_No,_ she thinks, _you are._

“Cid,” she hisses, “eight seconds. You are to follow through with the launch.”

“ _Charlie, I can’t_ —”

“That’s an order, Cid—”

“ _Goddamnit, Shera_ —”

“Three seconds—”

“ _I can’t do it_ —”

“You’ve been given a direct order, Captain—”

“ _Charlie!_ ”

“Cid!”

The ground quakes beneath her feet. 

Hardly daring to hope, Charlie throws her headset off and lunges towards the tent entrance. Fumes and smoke encircle the base of the rocket as it trembles violently on the launch pad, sounding like the loudest thunder she’s ever heard. 

For a moment, it seems as if the rocket is going to begin its journey as planned, but it only continues to shake, and the sounds don’t grow louder or stronger, but instead begin to weaken. The Shinra No. 26 rises from the launch pad, but the moment it rises ten or so feet off the ground, it shuts off piece-by-piece, crashing back to the earth and sending a rippling tremor throughout base camp.

Charlie watches, unable to move, unable to breathe or think, and her heart shatters right there in the shadow of her rocket. As if to mock her further, it groans loudly and begins to lean to one side, leaning leaning leaning until it’s pointing directly at the sun, in no condition to be launched again soon.

More crew members have begun to come out of their tents to see what’s going on, and as comprehension dawns upon their faces, all eyes swivel around to face Charlie, to await her fury. 

“He pushed the Emergency Shut-Off button,” Roderick tells her from just over her shoulder. His voice is sad enough and thoroughly disappointed, but nothing compared to how she’s feeling. “I’m so sorry, Miss Shinra. I know how much this meant to you.”

Charlie pivots on her heels to face Roderick. “Bring Cid to me. _Now_ ,” she answers in a low growl. “And if I see Shera’s face in this base camp again, then so help me—”

“Understood, ma’am.” Roderick seems almost too understanding. “Right away.”


	5. Chapter 5

part v: _fall from grace_

* * *

“You would have made me a _goddamn_ murderer for the sake of your own reputation!”

“I did what was necessary to see our dream become a reality. I was doing my job.”

“Don’t do that to me,” Cid protests, his voice breaking. He paces restlessly among the empty tent. “Don’t _fuckin_ ’ do that to me. _Our_ dream . . . at the cost of someone’s _life!_ While I had that hangin’ over my conscience in space, you would’a been down here sleepin’ like a baby!”

“Forgive me, Captain, but I was under the impression that you cared very little for Shera. She was willing to die for this, and you should have let her.”

“Just ‘cause I ain’t fond of her doesn’t mean I wanna see her dead! Burned to little fuckin’ pieces!” he snaps coldly, as if he doesn’t even know her, as if he hadn’t just told her he loved her before their dream had been shattered.

“You know how much this meant to me,” Charlie growls at him, remaining seated. It’s an easy thing to keep from shouting, considering most people are too afraid to even raise their voice to her, and considering that most people just shut up and hold their tongue. But Cid isn’t most people. “This failure today will be my legacy, and my father will be certain to never let me forget it. I had _everything_ riding on this launch. I told you that everything needed to be _perfect._ ”

“And you would have murdered someone to save face!” he shouts again, pulling his flying goggles off his forehead to throw them across the tent, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You know . . . I really thought you were different.”

She grinds her teeth, her anger now becoming more difficult to control. “I would choose my next words very carefully, if I were you, Cid.”

Cid stops his pacing, looking at her in that unfamiliar way. She knows he’s seeing her as someone else entirely, not Lottie or Charlie, but as Miss Charlotte Shinra. How could he not, when she sits so regally upon her camp chair as if passing off judgement to someone who has wrong her? 

It seems as if he takes her advice to heart, carefully weighing his next words and looking rather uneasy, but he doesn’t falter entirely. Cid Highwind is not one to show fear, even if he does feel it deep in his heart. 

“What would you have done in my place?” he asks quietly, as if expecting a different answer. She listens patiently, allowing him this freedom of speech. She would be lying if she said she didn’t understand his anger. Shaking his head, he continues. “What would you have done?”

“I would have continued with the launch, no matter what. I would have obeyed the order given me. I would have been in orbit by now. I would have accomplished something people have only ever dreamed of.” 

Charlie taps her fingers upon the desktop. It’s clear that this is not the answer he was expecting. She can see it in his bright blue eyes. 

While he remains at a loss for words, she takes the opportunity to finish. “You’re dismissed, Captain. Pack up your things and go home.”

If he hadn’t been stunned before, he is now. Dumbstruck, Cid is glued to the ground, heavy on his feet and his broad chest heaving. “Lottie . . .” he sighs, looking pained. 

“Your badge must be returned to Shinra Headquarters within a week. You can mail it in or leave it with my assistant—”

“You’re _firing_ me?” Cid asks incredulously, scoffing at the very idea. He folds his arms across his chest, but Charlie is in no mood for a stand-off, nor to be scoffed at.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “You deliberately disobeyed a direct order from your superior.”

He scoffs again in disbelief. “I’m the best fuckin’ pilot on the planet. I’m the only fuckin’ astronaut you’ve got.”

“Not anymore,” she shoots back. “You’re dismissed now, Captain.”

A muscle jumps in Cid’s cheek and his eyes flash with anger. “I want my fuckin’ airship. The _Highwind._ It’s mine.”

“The _Highwind_ is property of Shinra Inc. If you have a grievance, then you can leave a formal complaint with my office and we’ll get back to you.”

“Bunch of fuckin’ bureaucrats, that’s what you are.” Cid inhales and exhales deeply. “I save someone’s life, and I’m rewarded with a dismissal and the loss of my fuckin’ airship?”

“You were hired onto this project to do two things,” Charlie explains, losing her patience now. “To pilot the Shinra No. 26 and to follow orders. You couldn’t do the latter, and now there is no launch, so you have nothing to pilot.” She sighs. “You don’t know what it’s like to have everything taken away from you. Now, go home, Cid.”

He’s raging now, she can see it. “Like _you_ know what it’s like to have anything taken away from you!” He’s shouting again, his face bright red. “You’re a fuckin’ Shinra! You’ve had everything given to you on a _goddamn_ silver platter your whole fuckin’ life, and one little thing goes wrong and you think your life is over?”

“Cid—”

“You’re gonna go back to your fancy ass apartment and complain ‘bout the stink of the slums like they ain’t even people down there! You’re gonna sleep real nice in the bed your daddy paid for—”

“Watch your tongue, Captain,” she interrupts, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She rises slowly to her feet. “You have no idea what life has been like for me, so don’t you dare pretend otherwise.”

“Is that so, princess?” he sneers.

“All my life, I’ve been fighting the hard fight to prove that I am just as worthy of the Shinra name as my younger brother.” Charlie steps around the desk to move closer to Cid, a predator stalking her prey. “My father resented my being born a daughter so much that he even called me by a stupid boy’s name— _Char._ And when Rufus was born, I was nothing to him.” Her nostrils flare. “This was my chance to prove myself, to establish my legacy, and you _ruined_ it.”

She shoves him hard against the chest, sending him tumbling backwards. Cid catches his balance at the last moment, leaning awkwardly against the wall of the tent. 

“You’re just like your old man, aren’t you?” Cid rasps, frowning. “And your brother.”

Charlie flinches as if she’s been slapped. “Meaning?”

Cid straightens up, brushing himself off. “Anything for the company, right? What’s the death of a mechanic if it means Princess Charlotte Shinra gets to bask in the glory of it? Always standin’ on the shoulders of people beneath her, usin’ them to further whatever fuckin’ agendy you have.” 

“Tseng,” Charlie says, and the Turk is there in an instant, having been just outside the tent entrance. His hands remain clasped in front of him, his sleek and dark hair pushed back out of his face and gathered in a small ponytail at the base of his neck. “Please escort Captain Highwind back to his tent and see that he returns home safely.”

Tseng quickly grabs hold of Cid’s upper arm, startling the latter. He struggles against the Turk’s firm hold only for a moment.

“And if Mr. Highwind has any other complaints about Shinra, perhaps you could be kind enough to lend him an ear and pass them along to my father.”

Cid scowls. “I thought we were friends.”

Charlie’s tone is cold. “You disobeyed me, and people need to see what happens to those that defy my direct orders, friend or no. You shouldn’t have aborted the launch.”

His scowl twists into a snarl. “You fit right in with the rest of your family, don’t you?” He shakes his head. “You know what I think of Shinra? You wanna know how I feel? You wanna know what I think?”

Without warning, Cid spits on the ground between him and Charlie. Tseng moves lightning fast, and he has Cid on the ground within seconds. Cid groans as his back makes contact with the lumpy floor, a gun aimed at his chest. He struggles for breath, a hollow sound coming from deep within his chest after the wind has been knocked out of him. 

“Miss Shinra?” Tseng asks, his eyes never leaving Cid’s. “What should I do with him?”

“My father would have you killed, or at least jailed for disrespecting me and the company so,” Charlie tells Cid calmly, kneeling down beside him. “Luckily for you, I’m not my father, no matter how badly you may think I am. So I’ll pretend I didn’t see that.” Standing up again, she turns to Tseng. “Be gentle with him. I still don’t wish him harmed. He’s suffered many disappointments today, and besides . . . his failure will haunt him for years to come. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

“I hope you never fuckin’ forget the lengths you were willin’ to go to today,” Cid calls out as Tseng forcibly drags him from the tent. 

When the irate captain is removed from the vicinity and his shouts have died out and moved on, Charlie finally exits her tent to find the crew waiting anxiously for her. Her eyes pass over the rocket for a moment, a monument to her humiliation and failure, before she looks out into the small crowd. Her father and brother have left a long time ago, just after the commencement speech, and Shera is nowhere to be seen. 

“All of you, go home,” she announces. “It’s over.”

Unable to stand being in the presence of her rocket and her beloved crew that had gotten her so far, Charlie boards a helicopter without stopping once for the press, her things thrown unceremoniously into a duffel bag. She sits alone in the back and cries as the pilot flies her back home to Midgar without speaking a single word to her. 

While Cid had ignited the fiery blaze within her, Shera had sparked it. Whatever Cid had done to stop the launch, it had all been because of Shera, that stupid engineer who hadn’t heeded Charlie’s orders to evacuate prior to launch. 

Shera had been the one to ruin everything. Cid had disobeyed orders, yes, but perhaps it wasn’t right of her to ask so much of him. Beneath the uncouth and crass exterior, Charlie knows his heart is in the right place. It was not an easy command, to be sure, but it was an order nonetheless and it should have been followed. 

He should have trusted her to know it was the right decision. 

Though while she had been so confident in her decision at the time, the idea that President Shinra—that her own father—would have done the same thing doesn’t sit well with her. She’s not a fool—Charlie knows that her father has done questionable things before that she hadn’t wanted to align herself with. 

But there is no denying that her father has always believed himself to be making the right choices, never wanting to hear arguments against them. 

Shera is no one to her father, lesser than her father by far . . . President Shinra would have sacrificed her without batting an eye, without a second thought, without a single shred of doubt or unease. It would have been an easy command for him to give, and he would go home to sleep soundly at night, forgetting Shera’s name before ever falling asleep. 

But to Cid, Shera had been closer to an equal than either of them might ever be to Charlie. 

When she lands at Headquarters some time later, puffy-eyed and exhausted, Rufus is already waiting for her. He doesn’t seem very angry, but he doesn’t seem pleased, either. His indifference towards the entire space department has always been something difficult to decipher, though Charlie is sure it has much to do with the conflict that arises when his love for Charlie meets his deep dislike towards space. 

Upon entering the building together, her brother finally speaks, and his tone is equal parts smug and anxious. “Father wants to see you.”

She knew that he would. “I just want to go home,” she pleads quietly, entering the nearest glass elevator with Rufus. She’s able to see all of the upper plate of Midgar spread out before her in the dull afternoon lighting. 

How many people had watched the broadcast? How many people had seen her fail? How many people had scoffed at her, laughed at her, cheered for her failure?

“You need to meet with him now, to accept responsibility for your failure.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Charlie tells him, the elevator dinging as they reach the top floor of the Shinra Building. 

Rufus doesn’t answer, but leads her through the open elevator doors. She follows him reluctantly, knowing that he’s right, and it’s unwise to keep their father waiting. 

Down a narrow corridor with lush, blood-red carpeting and faux wood-paneled walls, it’s a rather foreboding journey to the dark-wood double-doors that lead to the president’s office. Despite the many times she’s strutted down this same corridor, the ominous feeling has always been the same.

Rufus throws the doors open and allows Charlie to pass through them first. The large and spacious office holds none of the small bit of warmth the outside corridor does. There is no carpeting in her father’s office, and the rounded walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, the better to view the cityscape from nearly seventy stories above the plate, high enough to give some people a serious case of vertigo. 

The lighting is the kind to sting her eyes, a bright white color instead of something softer and more appealing. It brightens the white tile beneath her feet, each small step of hers ringing in her ears. 

President Shinra’s beautiful desk sits right in the middle of the office, filled with speakers and screens and paperwork, curved just so to prevent anyone from sneaking around, impressive against the backdrop of Midgar by afternoon light. 

He doesn’t even look up from his desk until Charlie is standing right in front of it, feeling very much a grunt in front of her commander. Only when she’s straightened up, clicked her heels together, and put her hands behind her back does President Shinra finally set down his cigar in a nearby glass ashtray, lifting his eyes to examine his only daughter as Rufus takes his place at their father’s right side. 

President Shinra’s voice is hardly her father’s. He is preparing to pass judgement, like the king he believes himself to be. “Have you been crying, girl?” he asks her sharply, his fat face scrunching up in disgust. 

“No, sir,” Charlie croaks. 

Her father’s lips twist in an ugly scowl. “A failure _and_ a liar.” He breathes very heavily. “Tell me what happened. Was your rocket not meant to withstand a proper launch?”

“The rocket was perfect, just like I told you,” Charlie says, as calmly as she can. Exchanging a nervous look with Rufus, she continues. “You heard what happened. There was someone still in the engine room.”

“What of it?” her father barks impatiently. “If your rocket was capable of flying, then why isn’t it in space right now? Surely not because you pitied the life of some disposable mechanic?”

Rufus stares at the back of their father’s head, considering him with half a scowl on his own face. 

“Father, with all due respect, I ordered Cid to continue with the launch, but he aborted it at the last second. It was not on _my_ orders.” Her breathing picks up. Her father doesn’t care about excuses, and she knew he wouldn’t. “The blame lies with Cid and Cid alone. He disobeyed my direct order and I have fittingly punished him with a dismissal. Give me another six months and I’ll have someone else—someone better—trained to replace him, I swear it, Father, _please_ —”

“The fault does not lie with your captain,” President Shinra asserts, cold as ever. “The fault lies with his superior, which would be you.” He thinks for a moment, stroking his bushy walrus mustache. “You vouched for this boy.”

Charlie lowers her head respectfully, in disgrace. “I did.”

“Loyal, you told me he was. Never one to turn from his duty, you told me, did you not?”

“I did.”

“Then tell me why this squalling pilot was under the impression that he could defy a direct order from the head of his own department.” Her father takes a few puffs of his cigar, holding a lit match to the end of it. “Are you incapable of leading men? Are you incapable of inspiring even a _shred_ of fear within your subjects? Are you capable of running your own department, for that matter?”

“I . . .” Charlie falters, her eyes burning. “Father, I . . .”

“I should have known better than to entrust an entire department to you . . . people for you to order around like you’ve always wanted.” He sighs deeply in a very irritated manner. “I suppose some of it must be genetic, isn’t it? Your being a girl makes you soft-hearted. The evidence is in the way you dealt with that entitled cowboy. Stripped of his title and sent home to live out the rest of his life in peace.”

She bristles. _Girl, he says,_ she thinks. _I am a woman._ “The self-destruction of his own dream will haunt him for many years, I’m certain. The same punishment that has been inflicted on me.”

Rufus is looking right into her eyes, seeing her very thoughts. She’s certain that he knows exactly what she’s thinking, and it unnerves her. 

“He thought he was your equal, so you have given him an equal’s punishment,” President Shinra says. “And why, girl, did he assume to be your equal?”

Charlie swallows hard. She has nothing to say, unsure of what her father wants to hear. 

“Was it because you treated him as such?”

“I . . . I don’t . . .”

“Because you were fond of him, was it not?”

Her face reddens.

President Shinra lowers his cigar, putting it gently out in the ashtray again. “Get out, Rufus. I wish to speak with Char privately.”

Rufus purses his lips, turning quickly to face their father. “But—”

“Get out, boy! Or I’ll make Char my vice president out of pure spite!”

Her brother hides his anger well, but Charlie can see it in his eyes. Rufus slips out of the office and closes the door loudly behind him. 

Her father gets heavily and slowly to his face, walking around his desk at his own leisurely pace. “Your inability to keep your pilot in line says much about your ability to lead,” he begins, now sounding more exasperated than anything. When he reaches the front of his desk, he leans back against it and inspects her critically. “Do you think anyone would have the gall to disobey an order from _me_? Or even from your godforsaken brother?”

“No, Father,” she says, and it’s the truth. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you did,” he continues in a softer voice, rubbing at his temples. “You cared too much about your crew, and you got feelings involved when it came to your pilot—your _subordinate._ ” 

Charlie continues to blush, but her father doesn’t mock her for it. 

“Those people are not your friends or your family. Those people are your subjects, and they are there to obey your commands. Your word should be _law_ to them, not a mere suggestion. Do you understand me?”

She nods slightly. “Yes.”

“And now you see what happens when you get your feelings involved. Now you know the cost.” President Shinra stands tall, only an inch or two taller than Charlie herself. “You have cost me and this company far too much money, you have disappointed hundreds of thousands of people, set back my company’s reputation, and—more importantly—you have wasted my time.” He reaches for his unlit cigar again, bringing it to his lips. “What am I to do with you, Char? What am I to do with your department now?”

“Please, daddy . . .” Charlie tucks her hair behind her ears, desperate. “Please, six more months and I’ll have another rocket—”

“Why can’t you be more like your brother?” her father snaps, and Charlie knows that she’s overstepped. “Always _daddy_ this and _daddy_ that. Isn’t it enough that your mother birthed a daughter instead of a son, and now I must listen to your endless prattle, filled with overconfident and empty promises? Must I continue to sit here after today and listen to the whinging of a little girl? I thought we were past that point, Char.”

She won’t pretend the comparison doesn’t sting. Tears spring unbidden to her eyes, making it difficult for her to see clearly, even while he’s standing right in front of her. 

After another enormous sigh, her father finishes. “I want you to leave Midgar while I think of what to do with you. You can stay with Rufus at the villa in Costa del Sol until I’ve made my decision.” He turns away to return to his chair, but stops halfway there. “And I’m sending Reeve with you. He’s a good boy, Char, and he likes you well enough, so don’t break his heart.” 

Upon sitting back down, he presses a button to call Rufus back inside the office. The doors open swiftly, as if Rufus had been listening with his ear to the door. He looks impressive in the threshold. “Yes, Father?”

“See your sister home. She’s decided to go on a small vacation. I’ll have a helicopter prepared to take her to Costa del Sol, but _you_ will not be on it, Rufus. You will come right back here after seeing Char home safe, so we can discuss the future of her department.”

Rufus nods. “Yes, Father.”

“Daddy, please—”

“Come, sister,” Rufus says darkly, glancing at their father with a heated look. “I’ll take you home now.”

Charlie doesn’t move until Rufus is at her side, ushering her bodily from the office, a hand on the small of her back. She hasn’t given much thought as to what her father might do with the entire department, but now that she thinks about it . . . it’s not so unlikely that he might choose to shut it down completely. 

And once President Shinra shuts down the department, she will never hold another important office again. He will never trust her with a part of his company, will never allow her to take on important projects, and will certainly never be as good as Rufus in their father’s eyes. 

She had worked so damn hard just to prove herself, to prove that she was just as good—if not better—than Rufus, even if she is a girl. And now, that’s all over, and Shinra will never discover what lies just beyond the planet’s atmosphere, and Cid will never know what the stars look like from outer space, and Charlie’s dream will never come true. 

As Rufus lets her into her own apartment, he must finally feel it’s safe to speak again. There’s a smug look to his face, but she ignores it. “Cheer up, sister,” he reassures her. “You’re better off without the department, and without that pilot.”

It does very little to cheer her, and she packs very slowly for an unknown amount of time. The first thing she does is turn her phone off upon realizing that Reeve has already attempted to call her six times. 

She doesn’t want to talk about the launch. The shame cuts too deep—the shame of failing, the shame of having put feelings on the table when it came to Cid, the shame that she might have done something heartless just like her father would have, had it not been for Cid . . .

Charlie imagines everyone seated around President Shinra’s largest conference room—the one with the table set that had cost more money than her apartment—her father and Rufus, Scarlet, the hairy oaf Heidegger, and even Reeve. All of them discussing the next steps in regards to her termination and the closing of her department. 

Or perhaps they’ll just replace her with someone cold and unfeeling, someone willing to do whatever possible to accomplish what Charlie couldn’t. 

Charlie folds some clothes, packing them away neatly in a suitcase as Rufus lingers in the bedroom door. 

With no job and no status (other than being President Shinra’s daughter), Charlie knows how it will go. 

Her father will start up talk of marriage again, fantasizing about marrying her off to some wealthy upjump within the company, someone who has been around for a long time and would never defy her father’s wishes, someone who would never betray the company. And she’ll be forced to lay with them and breed with them, birth a son that will inherit the company after Rufus, considering her brother likely isn’t sentimental enough to marry in the first place. 

And her son will be her legacy, the legacy she couldn’t carry herself because she had been born a girl. Her son will continue where Rufus left off. 

She takes a plane to Costa del Sol, alone with her thoughts. They’re suffocating and painful, a cold and iron fist around her broken heart. By the time she arrives, it’s evening, and the sea is a sparkling orange-tinted thing, the sun lowering beyond the beautiful horizon, the beach nearly empty save for a few sun-tanned tourists. 

The villa is dark when she enters, thankfully unnoticed. When she flips the lights on, it’s to find Rufus’s massive pup, Dark Nation, withdrawing lazily from the sitting room to greet her with a few licks of her hand. Charlie obliges him with a few pets, grateful for some silent company. 

Upon closer inspection, the villa is a complete mess, however. Dishes lie abandoned and forgotten on nearly every surface, and newspapers are strewn all over, as if Dark Nation had gotten hold of them. Beer bottles and empty liquor bottles and cans adorn the end tables in the sitting room, the television on, but muted. 

After refilling Dark Nation’s food bowl with some leftovers from the refrigerator, and after breaking into Rufus’s prized liquor cabinet (not like it’s hard, with the passcode being her birthday) for some expensive scotch, Charlie slinks up the stairs and into her old bedroom, which hasn’t changed since she was a teenager. 

It’s the same bedroom she used when she stayed here as a little girl, the same bedroom where a gruff-looking Turk would carry her into while she was feigning sleep, calling her ‘little princess’. 

Sketches and drawings are tacked onto the walls, alongside posters of airplanes, remote and undeveloped locations, and movie stars. On her nightstand is a napkin from several months ago, covered in black ink from when Reeve had sketched her at dinner, waiting for their food. 

She sits down at her writing desk, something Reeve had bought for her after she had commented on the size of his own office desk. 

Dark Nation finds his way into her room a short while later to curl up on her bed, yawning and licking his chops. She’s already begun sketching out ideas for a new rocket, going through paper after paper after paper, tossing them over his shoulder when she decides to start fresh again, her brain buzzing and aching, her eyes swollen and tired. 

She drinks and drinks until she can’t draw a straight line anymore.

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself, pushing away from her desk with disgust. It doesn’t matter if she can draw a straight line or design a rocket. It doesn’t matter that she’s the youngest department head in Shinra’s history, or that her rocket was perfect. 

Nothing matters anymore, not now that Cid had disobeyed her orders and aborted the launch—not that _he_ could ever understand what the means to her. 

To think all of her knowledge is now wasted . . . it’s a painful thought. With the department, she at least had purpose, a goal and dreams and hopes. The department’s success was tied directly into her own personal happiness, her desire to be perceived as competent by her father. 

And now . . .

Now, without her department, Charlie will be good for one thing and one thing only. Without her department, she will be seen as some machine by her father, good for producing a son to pass off to her brother, a son whose mother would never run any part of the company that he’ll one day inherit. 

She can’t quite explain why she has her phone up to her face, ignoring the thirteen missed calls from Reeve, the two from Tseng, the one from Reno, and six other missed calls from crew members likely worried about their pay. She ignores it all, pulling up Cid’s phone number and letting her thumb hover over the screen that would connect them. 

She wouldn’t even care if he yelled at her. All she wants is to hear his voice, to know that someone else is as broken up over this as she is, wondering if he had drank himself to sleep like she plans to. 

Charlie turns her phone off when she hears the opening and closing of the front door, the shuffling of more than one person. 

She tells Dark Nation to keep watch, locks her bedroom door, and feigns sleep when both Rufus and Reeve knock on her door in turns. 


	6. Chapter 6

part vi: _the aftermath_

* * *

“Are you finally going to tell me what it is they’ve decided?”

Reeve swirls his half-empty glass of wine around, sighing heavily. Judging by the apologetic look on his face and his generally gloomy demeanor, Charlie won’t like his answer. “Your father does not intend to shut down the department for good, but three-quarters of its funding will be lost, and you’re to be replaced with . . .” He holds her gaze for a moment. “Palmer.”

She blinks in surprise at him, snorting. “ _Palmer_?”

“It’s only a title, Miss Shinra—”

“Charlie.”

“Right. Forgive me. I’m . . . still getting used to it.” He rubs the back of his neck, drinking deep from his glass. His high cheekbones are tinted pink already, dark eyes slightly glossed over. “Anyway, it’s like I was saying. It’s just a title, truly. Palmer has been with the company for years now and, yes, he’s a bumbling moron—”

They both laugh quietly, and Charlie is amazed that the smile pulls so genuinely at the corners of her lips. 

“But without any funding, there’s really nothing for him to do. I promise, no one will touch your rocket.”

“Palmer wouldn’t know what to do with it even if he wanted to.”

Reeve hums in reply. 

“He’s going to have to lay-off all of those people,” she thinks aloud, partially glad that she isn’t responsible for something so heartless after such a great disappointment. The fat bastard Palmer will likely drown as the head of a department, incompetent thing he is. “He doesn’t even know them. How is he supposed to make the right decision? _I_ know my employees.”

“Palmer has no say. Your father has taken that job upon himself, personally.” After a moment’s lull in conversation, he nods towards the empty plate on the now-clean glass coffee table. “Would you like some more?”

“No, thank you. It was very good, but I’m very full and, unfortunately, much more sober than I was.” Charlie hands him her plate as he rises to his feet. “You’ve always been such a wonderful cook.”

He smiles sheepishly at her and she smiles back. 

It had taken Reeve three days to coerce her to come out of her bedroom, and it had taken him three hours to convince Rufus to leave them alone for the night. Rufus had only conceded defeat when Charlie told him to beat it or she would tell Father that he was bringing whores back to the villa (a lie, of course, as Rufus refuses to bring _any_ girl back to the villa). 

Even then, Rufus had left reluctantly, threatening Reeve several times about what might happen if he came home to find his sister crying or molested. 

And yet, even after Rufus had left, Reeve had still needed to convince her with the promise of a home-cooked meal and wine. When she still expressed doubts, he had gently forced his way into her bedroom and nearly dragged her out of bed by the ankles. It had been very hard to resist, given how tired and hungover she was, but she’s grateful he found the courage to retrieve her despite her protests. 

Reeve, her only true friend, she thinks. 

As much as she loves and adores Rufus, her brother isn’t at all sympathetic unless he wants something, and he would never be caught dead sweating over a stove for her, serving her like he’s beneath her. Rufus would rather drown himself in drink with her until the launch was forgotten, and it would never be spoken of again. 

“I wish we were drinking to celebrate instead,” Reeve says quietly, looking into her eyes to perhaps gauge her reaction. He doesn’t look away when he next speaks. “I am so sorry, Charlotte. I know how much the launch meant to you. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

Charlie tucks her feet underneath her, looking away, unable to meet his eyes. “It was all my fault,” she whispers.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he assures her, moving closer in order to take hold of her upper arm with gentle fingers. His touch, bold and comfortable and firm, causes Charlie to slowly look up at him again. “No one could have prepared for what happened. No one expected the captain to abort the launch in the last few seconds.”

“I was his superior,” she replies, the back of her neck feeling hot. “It was my job to take responsibility for anything that went wrong. Cid should never have believed he could disobey a direct order from me. I shouldn’t have . . . I couldn’t . . .”

Hot tears burn her eyes again. It’s not like Reeve has never seen her cry before—in fact, he’s probably seen her cry more than anyone except for Rufus—but it’s still embarrassing for him to bear witness to something so vulnerable and messy. 

“I . . .” Reeve shifts awkwardly upon the sofa. 

Charlie watches him, studies the way his face takes on a litany of expressions over the course of a few seconds. His dark eyebrows knit together, a crease appearing between them as the corners of his lips turn downward. 

“Forgive me, but I don’t quite understand. What order did he disobey?”

She considers him, finishing her glass of wine. “My father didn’t tell you why the launch failed? Rufus didn’t say anything to you?”

“Only that the captain pressed the Emergency Shut-Off button.” Reeve’s eyes, dark like his hair, sweep up and down her as if hoping to find the answer written on her very skin. She thinks his eyes linger for a little too long on her mouth, but by the time she thinks he needs to look away, she realizes that _she’s_ staring at his lips, as well. “Are you going to tell me?”

“There was a mechanic still in the engine room,” Charlie explains quickly, glad for a distraction. Their eyes meet again and his expression softens. “I told her to leave the rocket with plenty of time before the launch, but she . . .”

She inhales deeply, glancing towards the television, where an endless loop of the same news stories play over and over again, horribly scripted and terribly dystopian, many of them involving Charlie’s own sudden disappearance following the failed launch and giving vague details about her “resignation”. 

“I told Cid to go through with it. I knew that, if we abandoned it, the rocket would never have another chance. I knew that my father wasn’t going to wait around for months. I told Cid to continue, but he stopped at the last moment to save the mechanic and . . . I can’t even say her name.”

“Is it foreign?”

“No,” she answers, chuckling half-heartedly. “It just hurts too much to say it.”

A split second smile flashes across his face. “I see.”

Charlie turns the television off, watching Reeve’s reflection in the darkened screen. “My father told me that it was _my_ fault that Cid disobeyed. He said it was because I allowed him to think he was my equal.”

“Yes,” Reeve says, slightly uncomfortable. He looks at her almost nervously, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “The rumors circulating around Headquarters say that . . . your launch failed because you fell in love with the captain.”

“Who said that?” she snaps.

He clears his throat. “Your brother, the vice president.”

“I . . .” This comes as a shock to her, but it shouldn’t, she thinks. “I didn’t fall in love with Cid. He’s my friend. He _was_ my friend. Or . . . I _thought_ he was my friend.”

She holds her glass out for Reeve to refill. Her head is starting to swim again. He pours the wine with surprising delicacy, and Charlie finds herself unable to look away from his hands, his elegant wrists, his long fingers and clean fingernails. His hands, while not the rough and callused things Cid’s had been, have certainly seen manual labor before, but not for a long time. 

Without even taking a sip of wine, she says, “You’re my only friend now, Reeve.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“You were the only one who was ever really here for me, all these years,” she confesses, looking up into his face and moving closer to wrap her hands around his bicep. “You were the only one who ever encouraged me, who ever supported me, who ever recognized that my dream might be attainable, and not some stupid fantasy.”

“I feel sorry for you, if your only friend is _me_.”

This makes Charlie laugh, but it’s sad laughter, and he suddenly becomes very shy, muscles tensing beneath her fingers. “Why?” she asks him. “You’re the best friend I could ever have asked for.”

Reeve lowers his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there with you.”

She shrugs, feeling ashamed for laughing. “It’s all right.” Resting her head against his shoulder, Charlie sighs heavily. “I guess I’ll just have to . . . try my hand with something else. Maybe I could be an architect, like you. You could teach me. It can’t be so different from mechanical drawing, can it?”

He offers her another shy little smile, revealing perfect white teeth that are normally hidden behind pursed lips. “I’m certain you could do anything you set your mind to, Miss Shinra.”

She lifts her head from his shoulder, frowning. “Why do you call me that?”

“It’s your name.”

“ _No_ , my name is Charlotte. Or Charlie. Or Char.”

Reeve pauses. “I suppose it’s polite . . . you being the president’s daughter.”

Charlie pulls her hands away from him, turning away to fold her arms over her chest. Losing Cid’s friendship had been a major blow and she won’t deny it. One of the reasons she so much enjoyed his company was because he didn’t give a damn who she was or who she was related to. 

Cid had never been afraid to speak his mind to her, to treat her like an equal instead of placing her on the pedestal that Reeve does. Cid had laughed with her at crude jokes, had not only called her Charlie, but _Lottie_ , a name no one else called her, a name that was _theirs_. He had even called her ‘princess’ sometimes, something she publicly scoffed at, but privately adored. 

But Cid had only ever seen her as Charlie. He chose to stay willfully blind to her family name, to her father’s company, to her family in general. 

“I’ve just told you that you’re my only friend,” she tells Reeve shakily. “I’ve been through some very difficult days and you come here and cook me dinner and pour me wine and listen to me complain, and you won’t even call me by my first name.”

When he fails to answer, it’s the straw that breaks Charlie’s back. Tears spring to her eyes, burning, and she jumps up to make for her bedroom again. Her abrupt movement startles Dark Nation, who growls warningly at Reeve from his place in the corner of the room, tail moving slowly from side-to-side as if debating whether or not to pounce.

She wishes Rufus were here—at least Rufus would call her by her name, even if he refused to show any sympathy. But she wouldn’t want to shed any tears in front of him, afraid of making herself appear weak. 

Before she can take three steps, Reeve’s hand darts out and his fingers wrap tight around her wrist, jerking her to a stop and pulling her somewhat forcefully back down to the sofa, right beside him.

“Charlotte,” he croaks, shaking his head. “Please stop crying.”

“Why?” she snarls, tearing her wrist away from him, but not moving another step. “Don’t you think I deserve to cry after everything that’s happened?”

“I only—”

“I want to see Rufus,” she presses on, rubbing her wrist. “Bring him to me.”

“Your brother has returned to Midgar to work on the new budget with your father, now that . . .” He throws her an apologetic look. “Now that the Space Exploration Department is being defunded.” Reeve’s hands move slightly upwards, as if to touch her shoulders, but he lowers them at the last seconds. “Your brother did defend your competence, and expressed confidence that your rocket would have launched without the captain being involved.”

“He defended me?” she asks, almost doubtful. “You know what he thought of my department. I would hardly be surprised if it was defunded on _his_ suggestion.”

Reeve bites down on his lower lip, the shadow of a beard growing on his face. “I’m sorry for the way your brother treats you. And your father.”

Charlie blushes heatedly, lowering herself back onto the sofa. 

“You know . . . if I were a bolder man—a braver man—I might tell your father that I think he’s missing out on what could be a wonderful relationship with a very extraordinary young woman.”

Her heart does something funny at these words, something she can’t quite explain. And yet, while Reeve’s words are painful in their own way, she appreciates them all the same. “He’s going to want me to marry soon,” she sighs. “He wants some son-in-law that he can dote over, that will bend over backwards to comply with my father’s every wish. And grandchildren . . . to continue the Shinra line in some way.”

“What will he do if you don’t?”

At this, she laughs bitterly. “I don’t know. It’s not like he can dislike me any more than he already does, but he might cut me off from the fortune.” She blushes again, catching him off-guard. All of her life, she’s lived very comfortably thanks to her father’s fortune, and without it, Charlie isn’t sure she’ll last a week. “How does he even expect me to find a husband? Rufus and Tseng meddle far too much for anyone to want something to do with me. They’re all afraid of them, and of my father.”

Reeve looks at her for a long time, his eye contact never wavering. She doesn’t know why this makes her fall into him, resting her head against his chest to listen to his beating heart. His arms slowly wrap around her, holding her there, and she never wants to pull away.

A hand glides softly over her hair, smoothing it back out of her face. She hasn’t showered in days, so the gesture means more to her than she can say, especially with the way he doesn’t shy away from the tangle of Shinra-blonde hair. 

“I need to ask you something,” she says, “and I need you to answer as my friend, and with the truth.”

“All right.” His hand doesn’t move, but his thumb brushes very lightly over her temple, lightly enough to send chills down her spine, making her shudder in his arms. “Ask me, then.”

Charlie tilts her head back to look up into his face. When his palm slides from her hair to her cheek, she instinctively nuzzles into it. Emboldened by her response, Reeve keeps it there, stroking her soft skin. No one has ever touched her so gently before—no one but him, and Rufus.

“My father told me, the morning of the launch, that I would never be president or vice president because I was incapable of making difficult decisions.”

“You were forced to make a _very_ difficult decision that morning, and I would never fault you for being distressed about it.”

“But did I do the right thing?” she asks again. “I know that sacrificing that mechanic is what my father would have done, and that’s why . . . I don’t know that it was the right thing for _me_ to do.”

Reeve shifts, turning his entire body to face her on the sofa. His free hand comes up to cradle her other cheek, thumb running up and down the line of her jaw. It’s nice. It’s comforting. But it isn’t an answer. 

“I think you made the right choice as Head of the Space Exploration Department.” He hesitates, tired eyes flicking down to her mouth again. “But I know you far better than you might think, and I know that Charlotte Shinra cares about her people—or her crew, in this case—more than your father could ever understand, and I have a hard time believing that . . . you would ever _truly_ want to make such a sacrifice, even if it was a necessary one for success.”

A lump forms in Charlie’s throat that makes it difficult to swallow. She allows herself to cry again in front of him, but Reeve wipes her tears away with an overwhelming tenderness that she doesn’t think anyone has ever shown her before in her life, save for the man who raised her, she supposes. 

“If I had been certain that my father would allow me another chance, I would have called it off, I swear. But I knew that my father would never . . . I knew that it _had_ to be then.”

“You don’t have to justify your decision to me, Charlotte. Nothing will make me think any differently of you.”

The corners of her lips quirk upwards at the sound of her name, spoken so sweetly in that voice of his. “My father controls the world with money, while my brother would prefer to rule with fear.” She sighs, turning into his palm and brushing her lips against it. “If I am ever president, I’ll control the city—and the world—with love, generosity, and kindness. And _you_ would be my vice president.”

“I know you would,” he answers with a soft smile. “It’s one of the reasons I admire you. I think you would make an excellent president, and I would be happy to serve at your side.”

He’s never told her he admires her before. “Really? You think I’d make a good president?” she breathes, eyes widening.

“Yes,” he replies. She can almost taste his breath, far closer to him than she remembers being, her heart pounding. “I know that you’re not your father.”

Charlie’s heart soars at this seemingly throwaway compliment. He has no idea what he’s said, she’s certain, or the loaded meaning behind it, but to be reminded that she’s not her father is something that sounds _good_ when spoken aloud. 

Without even thinking about it, she closes the gap between them by pressing her lips to his, knowing that he would never be so bold to do it himself. She opens her mouth for him right away, allowing the kiss to deepen, squeezing his hand gently to let him know it’s all right. 

Despite having kissed Cid only a few days ago, this kiss wakes something more in her—desire that she’s never really considered in regards to other men, violent stirrings compared to the tame and adolescent feelings she felt with Cid. Despite it being messy, wet, desperate, and scratchy, Charlie wants _more_ , and she knows that it will likely be clumsy and inexperienced, but if it’s horrible, she doubts Reeve would choose to say so.

She clutches to the front of his shirt, wanting to feel his body pressing hers against the sofa, and something throbs within her that cries out inwardly for him. Her hands scrabble at his clothing, all the clothing that prevents her from feeling the warmth of his skin, wanting to be so close to him that she can’t tell where one of them begins and the other ends. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to say all of this for her to be understood. When she pulls away for a moment, their noses still touching, she smiles weakly. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” she admits, her cheeks stinging with embarrassment.

“Me too,” he says breathlessly, smiling back at her. 

Charlie kisses him again, and his hands move from her face to her blouse, unbuttoning the top button with an obvious amount of uncertainty. She takes his hands in her own, pulling away again. 

“I’ve never . . .” she begins, blushing horribly. “I’ve never really . . . _been_ with anyone before . . .”

“That’s all right,” he whispers against her cheek, breathing heavily against her skin, nuzzling into it. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

“I don’t _want_ you to stop,” she replies truthfully. “I want you to do with me what you used to do with that slut from the slums you used to go around with.”

Reeve tenses, his entire body stiffening. He stops nuzzling at her cheek, leaning back to look her in the face with an expression that’s equal parts horror and humiliation. “What did you just say?”

“You heard what I said,” she answers, trying to sound more confident than she feels, her heart leaping in her throat. “What’s wrong? Ashamed of her?”

“Ashamed? Did you ever even _see_ that girl?”

“Why would I have wanted to?”

“Because if you had learned to use your eyes,” he continues, kissing her jaw quickly again before murmuring against her skin, “you would have noticed that she looked like you.”

Something about the way he says it makes Charlie feel as if the wind has been knocked out of her. 

She had spent months hating that mystery woman, had relished in moments when Reeve bought her jewelry or clothing without buying anything for the girl he had privately been seeing. She had teased him about that mystery woman until he was red in the face. 

It hadn’t until she was a little older than she realized the girl was probably not _really_ his girlfriend at all. 

Reeve carries her to bed with ease, as if she weighs no more than a child, up the stairs and to her childhood bedroom towards the back of the house, leaving their things abandoned on the coffee table. 

His mouth touches every inch of skin he can reach before beginning to undress her, kissing the skin previously covered by clothing. Out of instinct and embarrassment, Charlie attempts to cover her nakedness with her hands and arms, crossing her legs, but with a few gentle and whispered words of praise, he is easily able to coerce her to lie still, to be calm, assuring her that she’s perfect. 

He’s gentle, _so_ gentle. He slows upon noticing her heaving chest, smiles when she needs encouragement, holds her trembling hand and lets her know that he’ll take care of her. And she believes it, especially after all these years of having him around to comfort her and laugh with her and be with her. 

If there is anyone she trusts most, it is _him_ , so she forces herself to catch her breath, opening herself up to him in ways she’s never opened up to anyone before.

Even with his fingers inside of her a short while later on the stiff mattress, his mouth leaving rushed kisses all over her breasts, she still needs _more_. 

How easy it is to get lost in something so passionate and romantic. After days of feeling sorry for herself, it’s euphoric to feel something so _good_. How easy it is to forget about everything in the world but the two of them, with no one to stop them, with no one to put an end to their childish play and whispered words and muffled laughter . . . she never wants it to end.

Charlie can’t even speak coherently for the most part, only capable of making strangled sounds in a tongue unfamiliar and alien to her, one that consists of soft moans and desperate whining, heavy panting and content sighs, always wishing wishing wishing he would shed more of his clothing. 

Every time she reaches up to push the unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, he stops her, carefully lowering her hand back down above her head. Whenever she reaches for his belt, he playfully swats her hands away, smiling sweetly from his place between her legs. 

And after the generous fucking his fingers have given her, Reeve eventually succumbs to her, allowing her to push his clothing off and throw it on the floor, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down. 

Charlie finds herself trapped beneath him, one strong hand moving up and down her side, squeezing her hip while he props himself above her on his other forearm. 

She refuses to hear any of the apologies that issue from his mouth when he pushes himself inside of her at her own instruction. To have someone inside of her—to have _Reeve_ inside of her—suddenly fills the gaping hole in her heart that has been there ever since Rufus was given the position of vice president. 

If she had known it would feel like _this_ , she would have done it a long time ago in the hopes of repairing her broken heart. 

“I’m not made of glass,” she tells him after a few careful thrusts. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, breath warm against her neck. 

“You won’t. Please, Reeve,” she begs quietly, so frustrated she could cry, “it’s all right, please.”

She’s true to her word, never once telling him to stop. Charlie can’t remember ever feeling such pleasure in her life. Reeve is clearly confident and practiced in the bedroom, and her fearlessness seems to brook him even further, but she doesn’t mind. 

To think that, only a little while ago, he had been nervous to bring certain details to her attention, reluctant to press her for further information about the launch. In the bedroom, it feels as if she’s just another girl, just Charlie, not Miss Shinra.

And the way that he _speaks_ . . . low and eloquent into her ear, detailing the ways he had imagined having her before—over the president’s desk or half-clothed in some empty cleaning closet. He even recalls a few lonely nights that he had dreamt of her, waking with an ache that couldn’t be sated. 

And all the while, never tiring, asking her if it feels good and does she like it when he does that and is everything all right and would she like for him to stop? He whispers her name over and over, _charlie charlie charlie charlie_ , a prayer to accompany the worship he shows her.

Each one of his hard thrusts causes a pleasurable hurt between her legs, and he never relents, keeping her pressed between him and the bed, kissing her and smiling at her and laughing against her skin. 

She had never imagined her first time being so loving and tender, while at the same time being so desperate. She had pictured an old man with a large fortune hovering over her in bed, fantasizing about the company he might one day control, wondering what access to the Shinra fortune could mean.

The hand Reeve has on her hip moves between her legs as his movements become more erratic, all of him entering her and pulling out completely before repeating the process. It brings Charlie nearly to tears, tears borne of both frustration and relief. 

It’s more than just having someone inside of her tonight. It’s _so_ much more than that. She feels whole again for the first time in . . . _forever._ She can never remember feeling more of a person than she feels now, as she and Reeve make their rounds of the villa, fucking on the sofa and kissing each other in vulgar places on the floor of the dining room and laughing at clumsy touches in the shower before finally making their way to bed again. 

By the end, she’s so sore that she can hardly walk, and there’s a kink in her neck that needs worked out, but she doesn’t quite mind. Her entire body continues to tremble, her heart so full it could burst.

When the both of them finally slip under the blankets to sleep, neither of them wearing clothes, she keeps her cheek pressed to his chest and her arm draped over his stomach. Reeve’s arm encircles her protectively, holding her to his body and caressing the smooth skin of her arm with lazy fingers, sending chills down Charlie’s spine. 

He falls asleep quickly, exhausted and slightly drunk, but she is left awake by thoughts of the failed launch again. She can’t help but think of Cid telling her that he loved her. She can’t help but think of her own complicated feelings, pushing them away and burying them deep, knowing that it was impossible, always just a fantasy, the idea that someone might see her beneath her reputation and titles and still want her.

In the end, Charlie decides she had only wanted a way to rebel against her father, and Cid Highwind had been it, and as quick as he arrived in her life, he was gone, betraying her and their cause, their dreams and time and energy. He had gone from loving her to hating her in the span of a few minutes, and perhaps he never really loved her at all. 

If he really loved Charlotte Shinra, her decision to move forward with the launch wouldn’t have shaken or surprised him so. 

It doesn’t matter now, though. Now, all that matters is that she’s safe in her bed, the window opened to allow the ocean breeze in, and Reeve is holding her, his warm body pressed against her own. 

There will be plenty more time to think about her failure tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and months from now. But tonight . . .

Tonight, she’ll let herself have this small victory. After all, she deserves it after the losses she’s suffered. 

Charlie feels as if she’s only been asleep for five minutes when she hears the door to her bedroom opening. She lifts her head slightly, her eyes bleary with sleep, to find Reeve still in bed with her and Rufus standing in the doorway, observing the scene with a rather pinched look to his cold face.

“So . . .” he says slowly, crossing his arms over his chest and waking Reeve with a single word. “This is how it’s going to be, Tuesti? With _my sister_?”

“Get out, Rufus,” Charlie mumbles, pulling the blanket up over her head to hide her nakedness from her brother. “Leave us alone.”

She hears Rufus scoff. “Come along, D,” he says, whistling to the overgrown mutt lying on the carpeted floor of her bedroom. “Oh, sweet sister . . . Father will be _so_ pleased.”


End file.
